


First

by crystal_opal



Series: Anne Pevensie [1]
Category: Chronicles of Narnia (Movies), Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types, Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Aslan is the cutest, BAMF Lucy Pevensie, BAMF oc, Edmund is a prickly little pear, Family, Family Bonding, Family Drama, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Family Secrets, Gay Edmund Pevensie, Gen, Humor, Lucy is the cutest, Magic, Magic OC, Protective OC, Protective Peter Pevensie, Snark, but we don't take ourselves too seriously, playing it fast and loose with the magic rules, seriously we don't, yeah it's That Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:48:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 41,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27986460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crystal_opal/pseuds/crystal_opal
Summary: Anne, the fifth Pevensie, has Issues. When she and her family are forced to flee to the countryside, they stumble into Narnia, where it becomes increasingly hard to hide said Issues.
Relationships: Aslan (Narnia) & Original Female Character(s), Edmund Pevensie & Original Female Character(s), Lucy Pevensie & Original Female Character(s), Peter Pevensie & Original Female Character(s), The Pevensies (Narnia) & Original Female Character(s)
Series: Anne Pevensie [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2049804
Kudos: 10





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> *this is a repost of a repost of a repost

“Anne?” Lucy Pevensie called, staring uncertainly at her older sister’s bedroom door. Hearing no reply, the youngest Pevensie called again. When her third try went unanswered, she turned the knob and pushed it open. Her jaw went slack when she saw what had her sister so occupied.

Anne Pevensie’s back was to Lucy, but she could see that Anne’s arm was stretched out in front of her. Her hair stirred in a gentle breeze. The window was…closed. But what really grabbed Lucy’s attention was the floating books.

Having spent a significant amount of time around her oldest sister, Susan, Lucy decided that logic was the best way to explain the situation before her. Susan always knew the answer to any question, and she always knew just what to say. Because Susan, at fifteen, was practically a grownup already. So, Lucy quickly analysed the facts before her, and came to a firm conclusion. There was no logic on earth that could explain how Anne was levitating every single book from her shelves.

“Anne?” Lucy tried one last time.

Anne spun around, and the books dropped to the ground with a heavy thud.

Lucy couldn’t help but gasp. “Your eyes.”

Anne had always had the most extraordinary eyes of them all. They were mostly blue, like Mum’s, but she had a generous corona of burnt yellow around her pupils. Lucy had always thought it looked like the sun lived in Anne’s eyes. But the doctors didn’t think so, and called it a _condition_ or _abnormality_. They’d said that the sectoral heterochromia was a mutation, something to be wary of.

Right now, the yellow in Anne’s eyes was glowing, burning. It gave her a very feral look. It was a bit unsettling, so when Anne took a step toward Lucy, she unconsciously took a step back.

Hurt clouded Anne’s expression as her eyes faded to their normal hue, and she stood still, arms hanging uselessly by her sides. She spoke with a resigned dread in her voice.

“You were never meant to see this.”

“I don’t even know what this is,” said Lucy. She let out a strangled giggle despite herself.

“You can’t tell anyone.” Anne’s leg twitched as if to move, then froze when she thought better of it. “Please, Lucy. Promise me you won’t tell.”

She shook her head jerkily. “No one would believe me if I did.”

“This is _serious_ ,” Anne urged, forgetting her stillness to rush forward and grasp Lucy’s shoulders. “Please, _please_ don’t tell.”

In her agitation, her eyes sparked with that unnatural tint, and Lucy yelped in pain. It felt like what she imagined a strong electric shock would, leaving Lucy lightheaded and dizzy in the aftermath. When the ringing in her head cleared, she heard what Anne was saying.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Lucy. Forgive me, I won’t do it again, I promise—I don’t even know how I did that—I w-won’t touch you ever again, God, I’m so sorry—I’ll fix it, just don’t tell anyone, _please_ —”

“I’m okay!” said Lucy, reaching out to her panicking sister. “I was just surprised.”

“Don’t!” Anne nearly shrieked, balling her fists under her arms. “I’ll hurt you again.”

Lucy found her mouth opening and closing like a fish as she struggled to find the right words to say. How she wished Susan were here! She would know how to calm Anne down. The entire situation was odd beyond belief, and Anne’s frantic energy was doing nothing to help her keep a level head. In fact, Anne was usually one to remain unruffled, but she seemed to be on the brink of hyperventilating, so there would be no help from her end.

“I’m okay,” Lucy repeated, approaching as one would a wild animal. “I’m not hurt.”

Anne’s breath left her in a rush, and she sank to the floor by her bed. She sat there, curled in a ball, hands hidden firmly under her knees. Her books lay scattered around her.

“Don’t you want to pick up your books?” asked Lucy. “Some of the spines will be bent forever if you leave them like this.”

“R-right,” Anne said hoarsely. She slowly uncurled herself, reaching for the nearest book.

“Wouldn’t it be easier to just,” Lucy made a vague gesture with her hand. “It must be so useful for chores.”

“This isn’t a game, Lucy!” Anne snapped. Her eyes softened slightly with apology. “You hold my life in your hands now, do you realise that? One word from you, and I could be gone forever.”

Lucy gaped. “I wouldn’t! I don’t want you to be gone!”

“It might actually be better,” muttered Anne, almost to herself. “I can’t control this.”

“Never say that!” Lucy cried. Her voice trembled and tears welled up in her eyes.

“Oh, Lu, I’m sorry,” said Anne. Once again, she made as if to move forward, then stopped herself short.

Lucy had no such restraint. She darted forward and wrapped her arms around her sister’s waist, burying her head in the woolly fabric of her jumper.

“Lucy!” Anne stumbled at the force of her hug, arms coming up automatically to steady her. “This was a very foolish thing to do.”

“I don’t care,” Lucy mumbled into her sister’s chest. “Dad’s already gone. You can’t leave us. I won’t tell. I swear.”

Anne, who had tensed at the mention of Dad, relaxed. “I believe you.” She pulled away from their embrace, setting her hands firmly on Lucy’s shoulders. “But the next time I tell you something is dangerous, don’t ignore me and go rushing ahead, yes?”

Lucy grinned widely. _There_ was her sister.

“Yes, Annie,” she said. “But, look, you didn’t hurt me. Nothing happened.”

“You were lucky,” Anne corrected, but she looked reluctantly cheered.

“Will you tell me how you did it?” Lucy asked. “The books?”

Anne huffed. “Has anyone told you that you’re too curious for your own good?”

“Yes,” said Lucy. “You. Many times.”

“And yet you’ve somehow not listened to a single word all these years,” Anne scolded.

“Please, Anne?” said Lucy. “I just saw something _amazing_. I can’t help but want to know more about it.”

It was a strangely vulnerable Anne that replied, “You really want to know?”

“Yes!”

“All right,” Anne sighed. “It’s hard to explain. I…think about the books floating. I see it. If I think hard enough, they do it.”

“Wow,” breathed Lucy. “Do you think I might be able to learn?”

“I don’t know,” said Anne. “Whenever I manage something, I feel this sort of humming deep in my chest. Well, it feels like it’s in my chest, but it’s also everywhere else.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” said Lucy.

Anne rolled her eyes. “I know. I told you it was hard to explain.”

“Can you do the books again?” Lucy asked.

“Now?”

“Yes!” said Lucy. “It’ll take ages to put them back the normal way.”

Anne took a deep breath. “All right. I’ll try. But I want you to stand as far away from the bookshelf as you can. My aim isn’t perfect.”

Lucy watched as her sister closed her eyes, brow furrowing as she concentrated. She raised a hand, and the books—they were rising off the ground too!

“I can’t believe it,” Lucy whispered.

Anne didn’t stop there. She made a gentle motion with her hand, and all the books began bobbing towards the shelf. Some of them collided with the wall instead, making Anne wince, but most of them made it onto the shelf where they belonged.

“That was amazing!” said Lucy, hurrying over to inspect the shelf. “Your eyes started glowing and the books started floating and they went all the way over there and you even ordered them!”

Anne smiled, a hint of relief in the curl of her mouth. “A couple of them are misplaced, but I’m still practising.”

“Can I come with you the next time?” Lucy asked.

Anne looked surprised, as if she still couldn’t believe Lucy wasn’t running off to tell the world about her. “Yes. But you have to _listen_ to my instructions. For your own safety.”

“I will,” said Lucy. “Oh, I have so many questions! When did this start? Why do your eyes light up? What else have you done? Can you make sweets appear right now?”

For the first time that day, Anne laughed.


	2. Chapter 2

Anne jolted out of sleep when the first raid alarm sounded. She slipped out of bed and headed straight to Lucy’s room, struggling into her dressing gown along the way. She found the room empty.

“Lucy!” she called, turning back down the hallway.

She’d just reached her door when she heard a frantic, “Annie!”

Anne chased the sound, finding her younger sister frozen in the hallway leading to the living room. Her little face was white with terror, short brown hair still mussed from sleep. Edmund, Anne’s twin, was tugging gently on Lucy’s wrist, urging her towards the front door. He looked up when she entered. His dark eyes, a steady contrast to her own bicoloured ones, brightened with relief.

“I’m scared,” Lucy whimpered, eyes wet with tears. “I can’t move.”

“Go,” said Anne to Edmund with a nod. “Find the others. Lucy and I will be right behind you.”

“You swear?” said Edmund quietly. The softness of his tone caught her off guard. Edmund’s tongue was a sharp, barbed one. He had a talent for knowing exactly where to strike to deal the most devastating blow. To hear him speak so gently was something only Anne had the privilege of hearing, and even then it was a rare occurrence.

“On Father’s life,” she said, matching his volume. “Hurry now.”

Anne turned back to Lucy and took her sister’s icy-cold hands in her own. “Lu, I want to try something. Do you trust me?”

Lucy gave a tiny nod, flinching when they heard a boom in the distance. Anne squeezed her hands one more time and closed her eyes, hoping her power would obey her this time. She knew it had worked when Lucy let out a sharp gasp, just like she had the day before.

“Annie, what—”

“Walk,” interrupted Anne, straightening up quickly. “Come on, we’ve got to go now.”

They rushed to the front door, Anne keeping an eye on Lucy to make sure she didn’t stumble. The door had been left wide open for them—Edmund, most likely. Anne smiled at his thoughtfulness. Underneath his cold mask and pointed words, her twin could be so considerate.

Anne ushered Lucy into their mother’s arms when they reached the shelter, only to be nearly bowled over when Edmund darted back out towards the house. Anne followed without hesitation.

“Lucy, stay with Mum,” she called over her shoulder.

“Edmund, get back here!” she heard Peter shout. “Anne!”

She reached the house, finding Edmund rifling through drawers, scattering papers carelessly. He looked up when she skidded to a halt beside him.

“Help me find Dad,” he said.

She nodded. “I put him in the library. Wait for me.”

“I’m coming with you,” said Edmund with a shake of his head.

Not willing to waste time arguing, Anne made for the library with her twin hot on her heels. She grabbed the picture frame and clutched it close to her chest.

“We need to get out of here,” she urged.

Edmund and Anne were back on the front lawn when it happened. She saw Edmund’s mouth move, saw the naked fear on his face, but the roar of the plane’s engine drowned everything out. Time seemed to slow as she looked up, straight into the belly of a fighter plane. The hatch was opening. Something was falling, a deadly hail. Anne blinked. The searchlight flickered and sputtered out, leaving them in total darkness. Time sped back up.

Anne flung her arm up and _pushed_.

It felt like her chest was being torn apart with the force of the energy she expelled. There was no breath left to even scream. When the plane exploded, she was crumpled on the ground, unconscious, one arm still wrapped around her father’s picture.

* * *

Anne came to in the shelter with a blurry silhouette leaning over her. She heard voices, but the words slid into each other, piling and blending together until it was nothing but a dull buzz. Then the figure moved, light catching on golden hair and honey brown eyes.

“Dad?” she croaked, lifting a trembling hand. Her eyes fluttered shut.

“Anne!” Dad said. “No, no, open your eyes. Come on, don’t go back to sleep. Anne!”

There were hands on her face, her arms. The pressure felt nice, grounding. Until someone slapped her.

“Ouch!”

She sat up abruptly, clutching her head as the world spun and faded in and out of focus.

“Who the _fuck_ hit me?”

“Anne!” someone hissed. Mum. That was Mum. “Who taught you such foul language?”

“It was me,” said Lucy meekly.

Anne whipped her head around to look at Lucy questioningly. The younger girl only widened her eyes slightly and blinked once. Oh. Her eyes must have been doing something odd.

“Clever girl,” she whispered to Lucy. “Thank you.”

The breath was knocked out of her when Edmund tackled her in a hug. Her arms came up around his back automatically, and she buried her face in the crook of his neck. She could smell his fear-sweat, sharp and acrid. But underneath was the familiar earthy-floral scent that was pure Edmund.

“I’m very angry with you,” he murmured. “You scared me.”

Were it not for his arms tightening around her, she would have pulled away to look at his face. But Edmund needed the time to compose himself. Anne simply nodded, squeezing him back in apology.

“Anne, how could you be so _stupid_?” Peter began as soon as Edmund retreated to his corner in the shelter. “It was mildly understandable from Edmund, but you? You’re meant to be keeping him out of trouble! If not for that engine failure, you both would be dead. How were we supposed to handle that? How were we supposed to tell Dad that you’d both gotten yourself killed trying to fetch a picture that’s easily replaced? I told Edmund already, and now I’ll tell you. Your lives are not negotiable. Ever. Do you understand?”

As Peter spoke, Anne looked up at him silently, feeling about an inch tall. Though just sixteen, he was the spitting image of their father; no wonder she’d confused them while waking up. The hair, the eyes, the commanding presence, all of it was a dead ringer for Arthur Pevensie. Now, when he was scolding her, she’d never missed their father more.

“I…” Anne clamped her mouth shut, feeling tears well up in her eyes. She shook her head mutely.

Peter sighed and sat down by her, opening his arms. “Come here.”

She wasted no time in curling into his side, letting her tears fall into the safety of his shirt. Another set of arms joined the embrace, the perfume identifying them as Mum’s. Anne shifted to lean into her more, tears falling harder when she felt how her mother was shaking.

“I’m sorry,” she managed.

Peter shushed her, rubbing a soothing hand up and down her back. “Just don’t do it again, all right?”

“I miss Dad,” she whispered wetly.

Mum’s hand worked its way into Anne’s hair, working through the tangles gently. “Me too, darling. Me too.”

* * *

“What did you do to the plane?”

“Why did you slap me?”

Lucy and Anne spoke simultaneously, laughing slightly. They were curled up in the safety of Anne’s room, door firmly shut and locked. No one else was awake.

“You go first,” said Lucy.

“What? Why?” Anne sniffed. “I finished my question first.”

“Mine’s more important.”

“Lucy, you _slapped_ me,” said Anne. “You’ve never even stepped on an ant.”

But Lucy refused to back down, staring Anne down with a rare steel in her eyes.

Anne sighed. “I don’t know for sure, but I’m almost certain that I sent the bombs back into the plane.”

Lucy’s eyes went wide with awe. “You really did it. You saved our lives.”

“It hurt,” said Anne rubbing at her chest, wincing. “A lot.”

“Then I think you did more than just push them back into the plane,” said Lucy thoughtfully. “You’ve moved things around before.”

“Not _bombs_.”

“But they’re not that big, really,” said Lucy.

“You saw them?” Anne hissed. “Why were you out of the shelter?”

“I heard Edmund shout,” Lucy muttered. “Anyway, I think _you_ made the plane blow up.”

“How?” said Anne. “I’ve never done that before.”

“You’ve done fires, though, right? You just made a really, really big one. With bombs in the middle of it.”

Anne was silent for a moment, mulling the possibility over in her head. Did she really have that power? She could barely control the smaller things she could do. What if she got angry one day and blew up the kitchen? With Mum in it? Or any of her siblings?

“So why did you hit me?” Anne finally said. “It had something to do with my eyes, that much you told me.”

“They were turning white,” said Lucy.

“ _What_?”

“I know what I saw,” insisted Lucy. “Cloudy white, everywhere. I think everyone else was too distracted to notice. You couldn’t feel it?”

“No,” said Anne. “I could barely hear let alone see—my god.”

“What is it?”

“What if I was meant to be blind?” she whispered. “What if my magic is what gives me sight?”

“And when you used too much, you started losing it,” said Lucy.

“When I did the—with the plane—it felt like something was being ripped out of me.”

“You have to be careful,” Lucy warned. “It’s not just about other people seeing what you can do anymore, but you not being able to see.”

“I’ll be careful,” Anne promised. “That still doesn’t explain the slap, Lu.”

“Well, you know how Dad sometimes gives the radio a few smacks when it starts getting fuzzy?” said Lucy. “I just—hey! Stop laughing, I was really scared!”

Anne snorted as she tried to rein in her giggles. She didn’t quite succeed. Lucy gave up, spinning around to give her the silent treatment.

“Lu, I’m sorry,” said Anne, choking back a few more laughs. “Really, I am. It’s just funny. After the night we’ve both had I think a little laughter is in order, don’t you?”

Lucy didn’t bother replying, keeping her back to Anne. Now on a mission to get Lucy’s attention, Anne reached out with her magic, and oh! It was so much clearer now. It was like cleaning a pair of specs and putting them on again to see the world in crystal clarity. It felt so much better. Using her newfound sensitivity, Anne took hold of her teddy bear, levitating him in front of Lucy’s face. She moved him like a marionette, giving the arms and legs a life they’d never had before.

“Lucy!” said Anne, lowering her voice to sound more masculine. “It is I, Sir Pooh of the Noble House of Pevensie, defeater of Heffalumps. I have come on behalf of your beloved and talented sister, Anne. She begs your forgiveness for her mirth. She was laughing at the situation, not you. Might you forgive her? She is willing to perform a number of enchantments for your pleasure, should you agree.”

Lucy didn’t turn around, but she sat up straighter and Anne could hear the smile in her voice when she spoke. “Well, Sir Pooh. I would like a unicorn, please.”

It was Lucy’s turn to laugh when Anne let out a quiet curse.

“Of all things…”

* * *

It was morning when Mum finally broke the taboo. No one aside from Lucy and Anne had spoken of the raid since it happened, and that had been in secret. But here was Mum now, broaching the subject.

“You’ll be going to the countryside,” she said. “A friend of your grandmother’s has graciously agreed to take you in for the duration of this…situation.”

“War, Mum,” said Susan. “You can say the word.”

“Children shouldn’t have to deal with such things,” said Mum, frowning fiercely.

“We’re not children anymore,” said Anne. “War doesn’t care how old we are, it targets all of us.”

Mum paled drastically, and Peter’s fists clenched.

“Sorry,” she muttered. “But I think more than anyone else, I’m allowed to say that.”

“Mum, let’s be rational about it,” said Susan, tossing her dark curls over one shoulder. Her elegant features were pinched with exhaustion. “We can’t afford to be uninformed.”

“Aren’t you coming with us?” said Peter to Mum. “Because we’re not going without you.”

“I will follow once I’ve settled some affairs here,” Mum replied.

“Then we’ll wait until you’ve finished,” said Anne. “We can’t leave not knowing if you’ll be all right.”

“You can and you will,” said Mum firmly. “There will be no discussion about this. I will see you to the train station in a week.”

“What if the Germans target this town again because of the plane explosion?” Anne protested. “You won’t be safe if I’m—if we’re not here!”

“Enough, Anne!” Mum snapped. “Do not argue with me about this. I nearly lost all of you; that is something I _will not_ allow to happen again. You will be leaving Finchley in a week. There is no choice here.”

Edmund cornered Anne after supper, eyes dark with suspicion. “What happened before the plane exploded?”

Anne stifled the urge to back away. “Why do you want to know?”

“You said something strange earlier. I want to know why you said it.”

She swallowed uncomfortably. “I don’t remember. It was dark, and everything happened so fast.”

Edmund’s expression slackened for a moment as he lost his icy control. “That’s a lie. You just _lied_ to me.”

Anne shook her head, guilt gnawing at her belly. “Everything was a haze. I couldn’t see clearly.”

That was true. In a way. But Edmund was backing away from her, face unreadable. Not good. She had never been unable to read him before. But then, she had also never lied to him before.

* * *

The train station was beyond crowded. Soldiers and civilians alike, they were everywhere. People thronged in and out around her, causing her breathing to quicken as she began to feel claustrophobic. Her hands began to tingle, small golden sparks jumping from finger to finger. Oh dear. Taking deep breaths, she managed to slow her heartbeat, focusing on Peter’s presence by her side. The sparks fizzled out.

“Let go of me,” Edmund spat behind her. She turned around to see Mum’s expression flash with hurt and weariness. It seemed she had tried to pull him out of the path of a rude man, and Edmund had not welcomed the assistance.

“What’s Dad going to think when he finds the house empty and abandoned?” he continued harshly. “Are you so cowardly that you’re robbing him of his chance to come back to the home he fought for? He wouldn’t make us leave. He’d stay and fight, just like he is now.”

“Shut up!” said Peter. He tugged Edmund away from Mum none too gently. “Do not speak to her like that. Dad didn’t stay, he left. Mum’s trying to make sure _we_ all stay safe for him to come back to, so stop being such a little brat!”

Mum, who had been silent so far, placed a calming hand on Peter’s shoulder. “That will do, Peter. Both of you have valid points. Edmund, the house is not our home. The people in this family are. And Peter, your father didn’t want to leave. He had to, and he’s doing his best to come back to where he belongs. I know this is a difficult time, but there is enough fighting going on at the fronts. Try not to bring it back here. That goes for all of you, yes?”

“I’ll make sure of it,” said Susan, straightening her shoulders.

“That’s my girl,” said Mum, nodding approvingly. “Stay close to Lucy.”

Anne put on her best encouraging smile when Mum turned to her. “Don’t worry about me. I’m all right, really.”

But Mum wasn’t convinced. There was a glint in her eye that Anne couldn’t quite read. “I hope the fresh air will do you good, darling,” she said. “You’ve been so tense lately. You know you can tell me if anything is bothering you.”

“I—”

_Fweeet!_

The train whistle saved her from having to respond. Anne gladly picked up her bag and her coat.

“I’m okay, Mum,” she said hurriedly. “We’ll see you in a week, right?”

Her mother’s eyes narrowed slightly before softening. “Yes, darlings. I will see you in a week.” Her eyes welled up slightly, voice thickening with emotion. “Off you go now.”

Pushed along with the crowd boarding the train, Anne was only able to catch brief glimpse of Mum before she disappeared behind a wave of black and grey coats. She swallowed, picking up her pace to reach Peter a few steps in front of her. His arm lifted for her on instinct, and she relaxed into his side, knowing that just for a moment, things would be all right.

* * *

The sun was high in the sky when the Pevensies finally arrived at their stop. Calling the modest wooden structure a station was a kindness. The rotting wood behind them just barely supported a large sign that read in cracked paint, ‘COOMBE HALT’. There was no one else there, not surprising, so when they heard the sound of an oncoming car they rushed down the unsteady steps to meet it. But the car sped by obliviously.

Susan broke the silence. “The professor knew we were coming. I’m sure it won’t be much longer.”

Edmund scoffed, but it was edged with traveller’s fatigue. “Perhaps we’ve been incorrectly labelled.”

Silence reigned once more, and they had just taken a seat on the steps when they heard the clip-clop of hooves coming around the bend. The horse-drawn cart lurched to a halt in front of their disbelieving faces.

The woman driving the cart looked down her nose at the five of them, the severe lines in her face deepening as she frowned.

“Mrs Macready?” said Peter hesitantly.

“I’m afraid so,” she replied grimly, her accent thick with a Scottish brogue. “Is this it then? Haven’t you brought anything else?”

“No, ma’am. It’s just us.”

They were content to let Peter do all the talking, and clambered silently onto the cart, mindful of the weight distribution with the luggage. Poor Peter was stuck up in front with Mrs Macready. Anne could see his discomfort in the way he fiddled with the cuff of his coat.

The ride wasn’t very long, but it seemed so because of the surroundings. There was so much to look at, and all of it possessed a serene beauty definitely not found in Finchley. Instead of dull grey lining every corner, the countryside was filled with rich green grass and leaves, bright indigo bluebells, and cheerful pink foxglove. Despite her reluctance in being away from Mum, Anne couldn’t help but agree with her choice. The countryside was perfect for decompressing.

Upon arrival at the manor, Anne noticed a couple things. First, it was enormous. Mum had certainly undersold the sheer size of the place. And second, it was comprised primarily of aged red brick, which made it stand out quite impressively against the green backdrop of the countryside. The interior was no less striking than the exterior. The staircases, tables, everything really, was made of a rich, dark mahogany. Countless paintings and marble busts lined the hallways, and Anne was willing to bet many of them were originals. There was no place for replicas in this house. The floor was covered in red carpet, the brightness of it making the manor seem more like a museum than a home.

Mrs Macready stopped short in front of the main staircase after directing them to hand their bags to another staff member. “Professor Kirke is not accustomed to having children in the house,” she said sternly. “As such, there are a few rules you will need to follow.”

Anne tuned out as she began reeling off a long list of what they under no circumstances were allowed to do. Privately, Anne wondered if it might be easier for her to just tell them they were confined to their rooms. At least they had free rein outdoors—oh no, they were to stay out of the garden by the east wing at all costs.

Mrs Macready finally exhausted all the places they weren’t permitted in, leaving them to their unpacking. Their bags had already been placed in the rooms they’d been assigned, so Anne headed straight for hers.

It was a beautiful room. The gauzy curtains were a dark blue, but the late afternoon brightened their tone to sea blue. The wooden furniture was of a paler stock, perhaps beech or maple, to contrast nicely with the curtains and bedspread. Anne hadn’t brought much with her, allowing her to finish unpacking within minutes. Her clothes barely filled an eighth of the space in the wardrobe. The dresser, too. Perhaps it was a good thing, that her possessions were minimal. It made it easier to leave at a moment’s notice.

The thought was sobering, sending her hurrying to find the others. She didn’t want to be alone with her mind right now. Thankfully, Lucy just a door down from her, and Peter, Susan, and Edmund had gathered there.

She entered just in time to hear Lucy say, “The sheets feel scratchy.”

“Wars don’t last forever,” said Susan, running a soothing hand over the younger girl’s short hair. “We’ll be home soon.”

“How much of home will be left when we get back?” said Edmund. He was wrapped in a dressing gown, slumped in a chair by Lucy’s wardrobe. His usual impassive expression had crumbled, leaving a roiling sea of emotion bare for Anne to read.

She was moving before she knew it. She ended up in front of the chair, tugging Edmund up and into an embrace before he could say a word in protest.

“Eddie, I’m sorry,” she murmured for his ears only.

Edmund was tense for a fraction of a second before he relaxed into her arms, his own coming up to squeeze her briefly.

“All right, off,” he said, pushing her away gently. It was clear he’d reached his quota of affection for the week.

“Look, tomorrow’s going to be great,” said Peter encouragingly. “You saw outside; this place is huge. We can do whatever we want.”

“Within strict boundaries,” reminded Susan. “The Macready has spoken.”

“Tomorrow’s going to be great,” Peter repeated. “Really.”


	3. Chapter 3

The sound of the rain woke her up. It was _torrential_. So much for Peter’s grand declaration. Anne slipped out of bed, shivering in the chilly morning air. There was a tangible dampness in the air, which made things all the worse. She wrapped herself in her dressing gown, deciding to forego proper clothing in protest.

It was early morning, that much she could tell. No one but the staff seemed to be awake, judging by the faint sound of footsteps near the kitchen. Anne had no appetite for breakfast, so she bypassed the kitchen on her way to the library. Perhaps she could light the fireplace in there for some warmth. And, she’d been dying to look at Professor Kirke’s selection since the Macready had shown them the room. It was one of the only places they were encouraged to enter, as Professor Kirke was a _professor_ , and therefore found it _unthinkable_ to bar anyone from seeking knowledge. Well, Anne had no interest in school, but she found reading to be a calming practice.

The library doors were closed when she got there. She must be the first visitor of the day then. She pushed open the heavy doors, propping them open like she’d seen the day before. If Anne was completely honest, the library looked less like a library and more like a rather eccentric dragon’s hoard. There were shelves, and yes, they were filled with books, but they lacked any form of organisation. The way the books were places weren’t even uniform! Some were propped upright as usual, some were put in spine first, some were horizontally stacked, and some were completely upside down and backwards. Poetry was next to mathematics, history collided with mythology; it was chaotic paradise. Anne loved it. But first! The fireplace needed tending. It was too bloody cold this morning.

The fireplace was strategically placed as far from the door as possible, and boasted a massive mantelpiece, upon which sat…stacks and stacks of books. Privately, Anne thought the professor was missing a few knobs in his brain if he thought this was a good idea, but he was granting them asylum, so she would keep any misgivings about him to herself.

Anne crouched in front of the cinders of yesterday’s logs, wondering where the fire-starter kit was. She found a new set of logs easily enough and slipped them behind the grate, but the matches were nowhere to be found. Perhaps the mantel or the desk?

She was wasting time with the useless search for tinder. She paused for a moment, listening for any approaching footsteps. There were none. Good. That meant Anne was free to press a hand against the grate, close her eyes, and stoke the flames herself. It felt much like what she did to the plane, to an extremely lesser extent. Compared to the ripping agony of the explosion, this little fire was barely a tug in her chest. It did the job, though, and soon there was a modest blaze warming the room.

She straightened up, dusting her hands off with satisfaction. It was then that she caught sight of it. Mounted on a gleaming wooden shield directly above the mantelpiece, was a carving of a lion. It wasn’t just a carving. It was painted over in what looked like real gold, and there was something not right about it. Something more than the fact that Anne was _absolutely certain_ it was not there when she first approached the fireplace. She had gotten a very good look at the mantel and its surroundings, and the lion had definitely not been there. The professor was turning out to be more and more interesting, from the state of his library to its teleporting décor.

And now the lion was moving. Truly, the lion was moving. It was breathing. Anne knew how mad it sounded, but she tended to trust what her eyes told her, especially now that she was almost sure that hers were powered by magic.

The lion’s mouth opened, and for a wild moment Anne was sure it was going to breathe fire at her or something equally insane. But it simply yawned.

“Perhaps I’m dreaming,” said Anne to the lion, staring unabashedly into its open mouth. God, even its teeth and tongue were detailed. “Do you think I’m dreaming? That would certainly explain this without any repercussions.”

The lion stopped mid-yawn to look at her. Then it closed its mouth. Its golden eyes roved over her, whiskers twitching hesitantly. It looked…embarrassed?

“Look, I’m sorry if I invaded your privacy,” she said. “I’ll turn around if it makes you feel better.”

She did so, and came face to face with the professor.

“Shit!” she said. “Does everything and everyone in this house teleport?”

The professor looked gobsmacked. Anne didn’t know if it was because of the lion behind her or her foul language.

“I suppose if you’re here that means I’m not dreaming,” she sighed.

The professor finally managed to shake off his stupor. “Indeed. Not a dream. Certainly.”

He wasn’t looking at her, so Anne assumed the lion took priority in his shock. She looked back at the lion just in time to see it somehow fold in on itself and become a very two-dimensional brass plate lion with none of the detail of its predecessor.

“Child,” said the professor, drawing her attention back to him. “What have you _done_?”

His incredulity had her hackles raising. How dare he sound _surprised_. This was his home; he should know about the strange things happening in it!

“ _I_ did nothing,” she said frostily, “but light a fire to keep myself warm while I read a book.”

His eyebrows rose. “With no matches?”

“I used the last one,” she lied easily.

“That would be much more convincing had I not removed them from this room last night myself.”

She shrugged. “You must have missed one,” she said sweetly. “Perhaps you ought to explain your fascinating décor?”

But the professor was not deterred. “How long have you been able to do magic?”

“Magic doesn’t exist,” said Anne. “Aren’t you meant to be wise?”

“There’s no use denying it, child.” The professor looked as if he pitied her. Wonderful. “Magic is a wonderful, terrible burden. It can be the architect of marvels, or the harbinger of disaster. What draws the line between the two is up to the wielder.”

“For a man of academia, you’re very open-minded,” she said. “How do you know so much about magic, _if_ it actually exists?”

The professor let out a deep sigh, one that seemed to make him shrink a bit. He took a seat in an armchair, gesturing at the chair across from him for her to do the same. She reluctantly sat.

“To this day I have met only two wielders,” he said. “One was a being of pure warmth, the other of biting cold. I saw first-hand what can be accomplished with magic, and though the things I witnessed were beyond comparison, I could not help but think there was an inherent danger in such power, regardless of intent. Still, my life would not be what it is without those experiences, and I do not regret a single moment of it. I met some of the greatest friends of my life through magic.”

Anne was silent for a long moment, fiddling with belt of her dressing gown as she mulled over the professor’s words. Was he trustworthy? Dare she confirm his suspicions about her? She would be here for an undefined amount of time; was it a help or a hindrance to have someone other than Lucy aware of her powers? A person of authority, no less. Would the professor keep her secret when Mum came to join them?

“These beings,” she finally said. “Are you still in contact with them? Could I…meet them?”

The professor shook his head. “I have not seen either for many, many decades.”

Disappointment sunk like a stone in Anne’s stomach. So much for a possible tutor.

“Until today.”

Anne’s head shot up. “Sorry, what?”

* * *

Anne left the library feeling decidedly off-kilter. The professor had spoken of many things…things that even Anne, with all her magic, had a hard time believing. A land full of magic and mystery? Witches? Talking animals? God, it sounded like a children’s storybook! And the worst part was, Professor Kirke said that all portals to that land were closed. She would never see it.

She was so deep in thought that she nearly ran into Lucy when the younger girl came bursting into the hallway, looking like the devil himself was on her heels.

“Hide, Annie!” she called over her shoulder. “Peter’s seeking!”

“I’ll catch the next game,” Anne said to her sister’s rapidly retreating form. “I’m hungry.”

Lucy paused at the end of the hall to turn and stick her tongue out at Anne. “Booooring,” she teased. “Try to find me before Peter does!”

“As you command,” said Anne grandly, sweeping an imaginary hat off her head in a bow. “Your highness.”

“That’s ‘majesty’ to you,” sniffed Lucy before disappearing into a room.

Anne chuckled, retracing Lucy’s steps back to the room Peter was in. Her older brother stood with his eyes closed, muttering numbers under his breath.

“Thirty-one, thirty-two, thirty—”

“You can open your eyes, you know,” said Anne. “No one would be stupid enough to hide in this room. Or smart enough.”

Peter visibly jumped, honey brown eyes opening to glare at her. “Did you have to frighten the daylights out of me?”

“Peter,” she said. “I _live_ for those moments.”

He chuckled at her, looping an arm around her shoulders to press a quick kiss to her temple. He’d been doing things like that a lot more lately, perhaps a way to reassure himself that she was alive and well. It didn’t bother Anne—it was the opposite, really. She never failed to welcome Peter’s affection, simply on account of his likeness to Dad. When she was with Peter, there was nothing in the world that could harm her.

“All right?” he asked, peering down at her with gentle concern.

“Just fine,” she said. “I met the professor, actually.”

The corner of his mouth quirked up in a half grin. “Oh? And how was meeting our illustrious host? The Macready would have us believe he’s either St. Nicholas or the devil himself.”

She felt her nose scrunch as she recalled their lengthy conversation. “He’s…an odd one. The Macready has it completely wrong. He’s not Santa or the devil. He’s perhaps their estranged cousin twice removed.”

“Of course he is,” said Peter, smiling fully. “You say the strangest things, you and Edmund both. I can’t hope to understand what you’re thinking most of the time.”

“We’ve got to have _some_ secrets from you all,” she retorted. “We’d be the most boring people on earth otherwise.”

Though said lightly, Anne felt the weight of her words settling in her chest soon after speaking them. She _was_ keeping secrets from him, even from Edmund. And those secrets were much more devastating than stealing sweets from the store—which she’d also done.

“Anne, are you really okay?”

Peter’s voice pulled her out of her thoughts, and she looked up into his worried expression.

“You’ve been off in your own world more than usual lately,” he continued. “Ever since the night of the raid…I can’t help but think something else happened. You know you can talk to me about anything, right? I wouldn’t think badly of you at all. None of us would. What you experienced, I can’t possibly imagine what it must have felt like. I just want you to know that I’m always here if you need me.”

Anne teared up slightly at his words; how could she not? Her brother was such a sweetheart sometimes. It did nothing to assuage the guilt she felt for lying to him. But before she could open her mouth to reassure him with another, Lucy burst into the room, red in the face and panting like she’d just run a marathon.

“It’s all right, I’m back! It’s all right!”


	4. Chapter 4

“Er, Lu, I wasn’t done counting yet,” said Peter.

Susan popped her head in the doorway, confusing furrowing her brow. “Does this mean I win?”

Peter shrugged. “I think Lucy changed her mind about playing.”

“No, I didn’t,” said Lucy vehemently. “I’ve _been_ hiding. I’ve been gone for hours! I started out in the old wardrobe, but then I got lost in the woods, and it was really cold in there, but Mr Tumnus came and gave me tea and cakes and escorted me back to the wardrobe. He’s really nice, I want you all to meet him.”

Silence.

Then, “Lucy…did you hit your head?”

“Susan!” Lucy protested. “There is nothing wrong with my head.”

“Who’s Mr Tumnus?” said Anne before the two could start arguing. “We had that talk about strangers, Lu. Please don’t tell me you ignored our warnings and went off with an unknown man in the woods. You could have been in serious danger!”

“Mr Tumnus isn’t a man,” said Lucy, shaking her head fiercely. “He’s a faun, and he would never hurt a soul! He’s gentle and kind and makes really good tea. I lost track of time while I was in his home, and when I realised how late it was he brought me straight back.”

Anne frowned. “But I just saw you in the hall not a minute ago.”

“I…” Lucy looked around helplessly. Her face fell at the disbelieving expressions. “Why don’t I just _show_ you? Then you’ll understand.”

“Yes,” agreed Susan. “Please show us these woods you were in. It’s raining buckets outside, and I’m quite curious as to how you avoided getting wet.”

“What’s going on?” said Edmund, having just appeared in the doorway.

“Lucy was just about to show us her hiding spot,” said Peter diplomatically.

Edmund stared at Lucy incredulously. “But the game just started.”

“Just go with it,” muttered Anne.

Edmund looked ready to protest, but another glare from Peter had him deciding better of it. He joined their merry little party as they followed Lucy to her woods.

The room they entered was bare except for a tall, handsome wardrobe against the far wall. A white sheet lay pooled on the floor at the foot of the wardrobe, presumably pulled down by Lucy.

“It’s just in there,” the girl in question said, pointing at the wardrobe.

Susan strode forward and opened the door. The wardrobe was filled to the brim with fur coats. Susan spent a moment pushing a few around to see the back wall. When she did, she reached out a hand and knocked firmly on it.

“I’m sorry, Lucy,” she sighed. “But the only wood in here is the back of the wardrobe.”

“One game at a time, Lu,” Peter chided gently. “We don’t all have your imagination.”

“But I _wasn’t_ imagining it,” Lucy insisted. “I was there. I saw everything with my own eyes. I touched the snow, I felt the cold. I can still taste the cakes I ate. Why won’t you believe me? Maybe the door’s not open all the time. We could come back later to check and see—”

“I believe her,” said Edmund, expression unreadable.

Lucy spun to face him, eyes wide with hope. “You do?”

He nodded shortly. “There’s a football field in my own wardrobe. And there’s a desert in the cabinet.”

Frustrated tears welled up and spilled over as Lucy realised that Edmund had no intention of taking her side.

“I understand that you want to forget everything that’s happening right now,” continued Edmund coldly. “But you don’t get to do that. You want to forget Dad, who’s off fighting a war he didn’t start? You want to forget Mum back in Finchley, risking her life to preserve some stupid antique jewellery she’s never worn? Well, guess what, you _can’t_. If we have to deal with real life, so do you. _Grow up_ , Lucy.”

The poor girl didn’t stand a chance. Edmund was ruthless. Lucy just…crumpled. She began to cry in earnest, great heaving sobs of heartbreak. Susan swept forward to gather the younger girl in her arms, exiting the room without a backward glance.

“Are you happy?” said Anne. “Are you _happy_ with what you’ve done, Edmund?” She advanced on him, eyes blazing with anger. “Did it make you feel better to tear her down like that? Do you feel powerful? Because all I see is a little boy too cowardly to pick on someone his own size. I really hope you’re satisfied with yourself.”

She left before she could hear Peter really get into it with Edmund. She’d had enough for the day…and was barely eleven o’clock. _Christ_. And she was still hungry.

* * *

That night, Anne volunteered to tuck Lucy in for the night. She had a feeling her younger sister could do with some cheering up of the magical kind. Her little firework shows never failed to make Lucy smile. She’d been quiet for the rest of the day, appetite dulled or non-existent. Peter and Susan shot Edmund glares during each meal, but Anne refused to even look his way. She would have nothing to do with him until he apologised to Lucy. Really, truly apologised in the way Anne knew he was capable of.

Now, Lucy was curled up on her side, practically buried in the blankets of her bed. Her face was scrunched up in an effort to stop her tears, but the tears prevailed.

“Oh, Lu,” sighed Anne, slipping into bed next to her sister and pulling her into her arms.

Lucy cuddled into her without a fight. She tried stifling her sobs, but it ended up sounding a bit like hiccups instead.

“I’m so sorry, Lucy,” Anne murmured. “I know I’m not the one you need to hear it from.”

“I-It’s o-o-kay,” whispered Lucy. “I k-know he’s not upset with me. H-he’s just u-upset.”

“That may be so,” said Anne. “And you’re very clever to recognise that, but that doesn’t excuse him one bit. We’re all upset, bug. We’re not all being shitheads about it, though.”

Lucy sniffled. “L-language. A-and I’m n-not five anymore. You c-can’t call me that.”

“What, bug?” Anne chuckled. “I’ll stop calling you that when you’re no longer adorable. Which will be never. Sorry.”

“A-Annie!”

“There you are,” said Anne, dropping a kiss on the crown of Lucy’s head. “I missed you today. Perhaps I should have joined you for hide-and-seek. I could have gone with you into the woods and met your Mr Tumnus.”

Lucy frowned slightly. “Don’t make fun.”

Anne hummed, shaking her head. “I’m not, bug. I swear.” She shifted so she was able to look Lucy in the eye. “I believe you.”

The reaction was instantaneous. Lucy’s face brightened as she broke into a hesitant smile. “R-really?”

“Really.”

She ducked her head back into the crook of Anne’s neck, muffling her reply. “What was that?” Anne asked.

“I said, thank you.”

“You never need to thank me for believing in you,” said Anne. “Bug.”

Lucy’s retaliation was swift and brutal. Already curled so close to Anne, the younger girl had no trouble digging her mischievous little fingers into her most ticklish spots. Anne twitched and shrieked, but Lucy had a shockingly strong grip.

“I surrender, I surrender,” Anne gasped, still squirming. “Please s-stop. God, this h-has to be torture!”

Lucy finally ceased her assault, sitting up with a smug smirk. “Promise me you’ll never call me ‘bug’ again.”

Anne groaned, sitting up as well. “Why must you ask such things of me?” She scooted back warily, watching Lucy’s hands for any sign of movement. Her sister giggled softly, and Anne declared this night a success.

“Hey,” said Anne. “You know what we should do? Since we’re not tired? You’re not tired, are you?”

Lucy shook her head.

“Let’s go check the wardrobe again. See if the door’s open. What do you say? Want to come with me?”

Lucy’s jaw went slack, and her eyes clouded over with a hint of tears. “You really believe me.”

Anne nodded. “I really do.”

“Let’s go then!”

Lucy practically flew off the bed, grabbing her dressing gown to pull over her nightclothes. She found the set of wellies the Macready had given each of them and slid them on her feet.

“It’s wintertime there, so make sure you get your wellies too!”

“All right,” Anne laughed. “I’ll be right back. Don’t leave without me.”

She was back in a flash, wrapped in her own dressing gown and wearing her boots. Lucy was waiting impatiently, already holding a candle to light the way. They tiptoed through the house to the wardrobe room, careful not to wake any of their siblings up. When they reached the wardrobe, Anne pushed Lucy in front of her gently.

“I think you’d better open it,” she said. “You’re the one with the magic now.”

Lucy grinned excitedly, and opened the door. A gust of icy wind nipped at their faces, extinguishing the candle. If possible, Lucy’s grin grew even wider.

“It’s back!” she whisper-screamed. “Come on!”

Lucy set the candle down out of the way and clambered into the wardrobe, eagerly pushing aside coats to get to the woods beyond. Anne followed more sedately, because even though she had wholeheartedly believed Lucy, she could not believe this was happening right now. This had to be the world the professor told her about. It had to be.

“Lucy,” she called softly. “Did Mr Tumnus tell you what this place is called?”

“Oh!” said Lucy. “Yes, he said it was called Narnia.”

It was confirmed. This was the professor’s old stomping grounds. This was where he’d met those two magical beings, one of which was apparently a lion. He’d been rather mum about the specifics, but Anne didn’t really care. She was _in_ a land of magic; she could barely contain her excitement!

Anne gasped as she and Lucy stumbled out into the clearing. A single lamp post glowed warmly, illuminating the gently falling snow. A thick blanket of snow rested on the ground, muffling their steps as they trudged to the centre.

“So, where does Mr Tumnus live?” Anne whispered. Something about the serenity of this place urged her to keep her voice quiet. It was almost eerie, how silent it was.

Lucy bounced forward, pointing to their left. “Just up the hill that way, then ‘round the corner. He home is carved into a mountain! It’s amazing.”

“I’m sure he’s excited to see you again,” said Anne. “Shall we go and surprise him?”

“Yes!” Lucy cheered. “He said I was always welcome to come back for a visit. How much time do you think has passed for him?”

Anne blinked in surprise at that. “I honestly can’t say, Lu. Barely any time passed for us when you came here, but it seems that’s not the case for Narnia. I suppose we’ll just have to ask Mr Tumnus.”

They passed a twisted tree that had Lucy cheering, “We’re almost there!”

Mr Tumnus’s home was visible when they rounded the bend. It was a little round door carved into the mountainside, just like Lucy had said. The younger girl took Anne by the hand and practically dragged her the rest of the way there. Once she got within touching distance, Lucy reached out and knocked firmly three times. At once, they heard a muffled shout and some cluttering from inside the little house.

“Oh, I hope we didn’t wake him,” said Lucy, nervously fiddling with the sleeve of her robe.

Anne didn’t get a chance to reply. The door opened a crack as Mr Tumnus peered out cautiously, face brightening when he spotted Lucy.

“Lucy!” he beamed. “I had hoped you’d return soon. It gets ever so lonely here sometimes.”

While Mr Tumnus had his little chat with her sister, Anne took a moment to examine him. His hair was a nest of wild brown curls, ears sticking out horizontally from his head. They twitched in time with his expressions, which Anne found to be rather adorable. His face was very human-looking, as was his torso, but his legs were very clearly that of a goat’s. He was exactly what Lucy had said he was: a faun.

“—were careful, right? Oh! And who’s this? Another Daughter of Eve?”

Anne nodded hesitantly, extending her hand politely. “I’m Lucy’s sister, Anne Pevensie. I’m also a human, if that’s what you mean.”

The faun blushed as he took it, ducking his head bashfully. “Yes, that’s what I mean. The first time I met Lucy I called her a beardless dwarf.” He straightened up quickly, curling his right palm into a fist to rest upon his heart. He gave a short bow. “My name is Tumnus.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr Tumnus,” said Anne. “Lucy’s told me a lot about you. All good things, I assure you.”

“She didn’t tell you about the kidnapping, then?”

Anne’s smile froze on her face. Mr Tumnus gave her a horrified look.

“Oh no.”


	5. Chapter 5

“Why don’t you come in and I’ll explain?”

Anne eyed Mr Tumnus with growing incredulity. “You want me to enter your home without protection right after telling me you tried to kidnap my sister?”

“It was a misunderstanding!”

“How does one misunderstand a kidnapping?” said Anne slowly. “I’m really curious to know.”

“Look, just, um, come in or go,” said Mr Tumnus. “It’s not safe to linger out here too long.”

Anne side-eyed Lucy, finding the younger girl biting her lip sheepishly. “You certainly left a lot out of your story, bug. We’ll be having another talk about strangers again.” She set both hands on Lucy’s shoulders. “It’s up to you whether or not we go in. Do you trust him?”

“Yes,” came the confident reply. “I trust him.” Lucy lowered her voice drastically. “Besides, if it goes wonky, you can just—” She made a ‘boom’ motion with her hands.

“With us in it?” said Anne, raising an eyebrow.

“You know what I mean,” Lucy muttered petulantly. “Let’s go inside. He wasn’t joking about it not being entirely safe out here.”

Anne followed Lucy into the cosy home, hissing about _important omissions_ under her breath. Mr Tumnus closed the door behind them, locking it securely. Anne was almost certain it was to keep other things out instead of them in. It was comforting, ish. They chose seats by the fireplace, where Anne was struck by the oddest thought.

“How do you keep the smoke out of here if you have no chimney?”

“Oh!” Mr Tumnus nearly dropped the tea tray he was bringing over. “Magic?”

Anne nodded. “Right.”

“Here, Lucy,” said Mr Tumnus, handing her a plate stacked with cakes. “I remember you liked these in particular.”

“She’s going to be _so_ hyper when we get back,” said Anne, eyeing the pile with trepidation. Lucy ignored her, gleefully digging into her treat.

Anne cast her gaze around the inside of the home, noting its features. She spied Mr Tumnus fidgeting nervously in the peripheral. Good. Let him sweat a bit. Even if things clearly turned out all right, Mr Tumnus was about to learn that Lucy was not a person to trifle with. The faun probably knew about all their siblings—Lucy liked to talk—and while Peter was easily the most imposing of all of them, Anne was the only one who could utterly _destroy_ Mr Tumnus. Not that he knew that, yet. But he would.

For now, Anne admired the bookshelves that lined one wall. Good, an intelligent faun was a faun that would properly appreciate her rage. On the fireplace mantel, directly in the centre, sat a framed painting of an older faun. Very important to Mr Tumnus, Anne was willing to bet.

“Your father, I presume,” she said, nodding towards the frame.

“Y-Yes,” said Mr Tumnus.

Anne let her gaze sharpen on the faun’s face. “The resemblance is very strong. What was he like?”

“Brave,” said Mr Tumnus, looking down at his lap. “Very, very brave. He left a hundred years ago to fight in the war.”

“Did Lucy tell you that our father is also away at war?” she said.

Mr Tumnus’s eyes darkened with sadness. “Yes. You both must be so worried about him.”

Anne could feel herself softening towards him. Bollocks. _Of course_ the would-be kidnapper had to be an empathetic, kind, considerate, lonely faun who remembered Lucy’s favourite cakes.

“A hundred years?” Anne whistled. “How long do your kind live?”

“About three to five centuries,” said Mr Tumnus.

Anne’s eyes widened. “That’s quite a while.”

“It’s a gift and a curse.”

The poor faun looked so forlorn that Anne just couldn’t hold onto her anger anymore. This was not an opportunistic predator. She sighed.

“I need to say this at least once, though I doubt I’ll ever need to make good on it. If you ever try to bring harm to Lucy again, I will cut you into pieces. _Slowly_.”

Shakily, the faun nodded. “I understand.”

Anne beamed. “Wonderful!” Mr Tumnus’s expression was priceless, and she couldn’t hold back her laugh. “Let’s put that behind us, shall we? Tell me why it’s unsafe to be outside for too long. Lucy left out far too much, so I will no longer accept the story from her.”

Mouth stuffed full of cake, Lucy could only grunt in indignation.

* * *

“Christ, Lucy, look at the time! It’s nearly sunrise. We’ve got to go.”

Anne stood and bundled Lucy back into the dressing gown she’d discarded when they’d started playing cribbage. She shrugged her own back on before turning to Mr Tumnus.

“I’m so glad I didn’t have to hurt you,” she said, smiling sweetly. “Truly. It was a pleasure.”

Behind her, Lucy huffed. “Annie, stop it. You’re not fooling anyone. You like Mr Tumnus.”

“Oh, all right,” Anne chuckled, her smile turning genuine. “Mr Tumnus, you’re a decent sort. I’m eternally grateful that my sister met you.” She mock-glared at Lucy. “She was _very_ lucky.”

Bolstered by her honesty, Mr Tumnus took her hands in his. “Thank you for visiting, Anne Pevensie. It was a delight to have you here.” The faun leaned in to whisper in her ear. “Don’t tell anyone from here about your magic. The price on your head will only increase.”

Anne stiffened, pulling back to meet his eyes. There was nothing there but sincere concern and care. “Of course you could tell,” she sighed. “Can you smell it or something?”

Mr Tumnus threw his head back and laughed, an endearing mix of giggles and bleating. “Nothing so crude, I assure you. We fauns are simply more sensitive to such things.”

“Thank you for the warning,” said Anne. “Is there any other type of Narnian that can sense it as you do?”

Mr Tumnus shook his head. “Fauns are unique in this ability. Still, you must be wary of anyone else you meet here. They could be working for _her_.”

“Why does she want us so badly?” Anne asked.

“There’s no time to explain today,” said Mr Tumnus. “Next time, I promise.”

“Goodnight, Mr Tumnus,” Lucy piped up, diving forward to hug the faun. He stumbled in surprise before returning the embrace.

“Goodnight, Lucy,” he said. “I shall see you both soon.”

They shuffled back the way they came as quickly as the snow would let them, which wasn’t quick at all since there was a half metre of snow on the ground.

“I’m having a hot bath when we get back,” said Anne. “I don’t care that it’s still the middle of the night at the professor’s house.”

“Yes please,” said Lucy through chattering teeth. “And I still want a unicorn.”

Anne stifled a loud groan. “You know what happened last time I tried, bug. What did you say it looked like again?”

“A horned duck.”

“See?” she tried. “I didn’t even manage something in the same species! Choose something else, I beg you.”

Lucy, obstinate creature that she was, simply shook her head. “It’ll be a unicorn or my eternal disappointment.”

“You’ve been learning words with Susan again,” said Anne, eyeing the younger girl suspiciously. “What sort of grown-up rubbish has she gotten in your head now?”

“Well, she says that your marks could be as good as hers if only you applied yourself,” said Lucy. “Her voice did that thing that Mum’s does. ‘She’s so _clever_ , I don’t understand! I _know_ she could make straight As in every subject, but it’s like she just doesn’t care!’”

Anne nearly doubled over with laughter, clapping a hand over her mouth to stay quiet. “You just like her!”

“Susan or Mum?”

A thump and a curse to their left had the mirth leaving Anne in an instant. She pulled Lucy behind her, backing them against a tree. They listened tensely as the distant crunching of footsteps grew closer and closer.

“On my word, I want you to run to the wardrobe,” Anne whispered. “Don’t stop, don’t look back.”

Lucy nodded silently. Anne marvelled at the easy trust she had in her. Anyone else would have protested, but not Lucy. The footsteps stilled, and Anne leapt at the opportunity.

“Run,” she hissed to Lucy, and dove to the left, tackling the figure that just emerged from the tree line. The next few moments were a blur of motion as Anne fought to pin the threat to the ground. The intruder put up a good fight, but Anne was determined.

In her desperation to keep Lucy safe, she didn’t notice her opponent stiffen and stop fighting. It took several moments for her to register that words were being spoken.

“Stop it, Anne, it’s me! It’s Edmund! Stop! Anne! STOP!”

Anne looked down to meet the unfathomable gaze of her twin. “Shit.”

Edmund sat up with a groan. “I’ll say. Did you have to hit so hard?”

“What are you doing here? You’re meant to be sleeping.”

“Hypocrite much?” said Edmund pointedly. “What are _you_ doing here?”

Anne’s eyes narrowed. “Lucy brought me to meet her friend. Which you could have done if you hadn’t been such an arse.”

She got up, setting off towards the wardrobe without a backward glance. She heard Edmund scrambling to follow her, but she ignored him.

“Wait, where’s Lucy?” Edmund called. “Don’t tell me you left her at her friend’s house.”

Anne had reached the lamp post by then, and she spun around to glare at Edmund. “I told Lucy to run because I thought _you_ were dangerous. I’m still not convinced you aren’t. Don’t you dare lecture me about keeping her safe.”

“Edmund!”

Lucy came running out of the trees where the wardrobe was, skidding to a halt by the lamp post. She had a large grin on her face.

“I can’t believe you got in too!”

Anne crossed her arms. “Clearly they let just _anyone_ waltz in.”

“You should have come to find us,” Lucy continued. “Mr Tumnus would have loved to meet you.”

“Careful,” said Anne, poking Lucy’s arm gently. “Keep your voice down.”

“Right, sorry,” Lucy grimaced. “Anyway, where were you?”

Edmund’s gaze darted for a moment before he spoke. “I don’t know. I kind of just walked around.”

His head turned to the side, and Anne spotted a speck of dirt just under his jaw. She moved forward, ready to brush it off, when she realised that it was not dirt. It was blood. Unacceptable. Anne’s hand darted out, catching her twin’s chin in her grip.

“Who did this to you, Edmund?” she demanded. The cut was very shallow, but it hadn’t been cleaned for a while, it seemed. “Tell me!”

Edmund jerked his face out of her grip, scoffing as he did so. “Why do you care?”

“How can you even ask me that?” Anne snapped.

“Make up your mind about me, will you?” he retorted. “Not a minute ago you were trying to kill me—”

“For the last time, I thought you were someone else!”

“—and you hate me but then you don’t hate me then you hate me again—”

Anne gaped. “ _Edmund_ , I do not—”

“Whatever, it doesn’t matter. It’s bloody freezing here. Is that the way out?”

Without waiting for an answer, Edmund practically ran back to the wardrobe. Lucy and Anne followed as quickly as they could, but by the time they got back into the professor’s house, Edmund was already turning the corner in the hallway back to his room.


	6. Chapter 6

Anne’s dreams were clouded with anxiety that night. She was running, trying so hard to catch up, but They remained a step out of reach. Her legs felt like molasses. Each step was a battle. Like running in sand, she sunk further and further the harder she tried. Eventually, Anne gave up.

“You win,” she called, falling to her knees.

They stopped and turned. Anne could not see Their face; it was a blur. They advanced on her, not quite menacing, but not friendly either. When They reached her, They looked down on her and shook Their head.

_A shame_ , They said without words. _So weak_.

“I’m not weak,” she growled, forcing herself onto one knee. The simple change in position felt like lifting a building. “I’m _not_ weak.”

_Liar_ , They crowed. _Liar!_

Suddenly there was a knife in her stomach. Anne gasped, hand going to her abdomen to pull it out. Her hand clawed at empty air. There was no wound, no blood. But Anne felt it clearly. There had to be something there.

“Stop it,” she cried. She looked up to find They had disappeared.

Anne woke up, fingers still scrabbling at her stomach. Pain bloomed there, bright and dizzying. She sat up quickly. There was blood on her sheets, and not a small amount. For a moment, she wasn’t sure if she was still dreaming or not. Afraid of what she might find, Anne carefully pulled up her nightshirt.

The soft skin of her belly was smooth and unmarked. Relief had her sinking back into her covers with a shudder. But why was she still in pain, then? Where was the blood coming from? The pain suddenly intensified in a way that had her breath catching as she curled back over her stomach.

“Fuck,” she groaned in realisation. “Not now.”

She stumbled to her feet, still half bent over. Using various bits of room furniture for support, she managed to make it to her door.

“Susan!” she shouted. “Help!”

Anne felt a rush of warmth toward her older sister when Susan came running in an instant. No matter how boring and adultish she’d gotten, Susan was there when Anne needed her.

“What’s wrong?” asked Susan.

“I’m dying,” Anne nearly whined.

Susan moved closer to lay a cool hand on her forehead. “Do you have a fever?”

“No,” said Anne, pointing to the bed. “I’m _bleeding_.”

“ _Oh_.”

“I don’t know how to make it stop hurting,” Anne continued pitifully.

“Right,” said Susan. She ducked back into the hall to shout some instructions to Peter. “Go get a change of clothing and come to the bathroom. Peter’s sent for a maid for some new sheets, and he’ll bring some supplies from my room.”

Anne followed Susan’s instructions to the letter, listening carefully as her older sister told her just how unfair life was about to become. Every month. She would have to deal with this every month for at least four more decades. Well, if this was the only day she could have special treatment for this, she would bloody well milk every last drop of helpfulness out of her siblings. She got hot compresses, foot massages, shoulder massages, all the massages. She also got ice cream and small cakes and—oh, was this why she’d cleaned off an extra plate at Mr Tumnus’s? But throughout the entire miserable day, she didn’t see Edmund once. His glaring absence was enough to make her abnormally sensitive self tear up.

* * *

Thankfully, about a week later, everything was normal again. Her body didn’t ache everywhere, she no longer felt like eating chocolate by the kilo, and Edmund was still avoiding her. He’d managed to get through the entire week without saying more than two words to her. It was quite the feat, she was able to admit, now that she wasn’t as easily bothered by things.

Even now, as they all gathered outside to play cricket on a rare day of sunshine, Edmund hadn’t looked at her once. It was _aggravating_. Honestly, Anne couldn’t be arsed to play; she hadn’t any athletic aspirations in the least. But Edmund was playing, and she was nothing if not determined.

“Watch it,” cried Edmund, glaring at her when the ball whizzed by inches away from his face.

Anne smirked, silently adjusting the scoreboard in her mind. Anne: 3, Edmund: 7. _Yes_ , Edmund was clearly winning, but she was the patient one of the two. He would break in no time. She swung wildly on the next one, paying no attention to aim or anything sensible like that. She just swung and put every ounce of her strength into it. It was almost gratifying to hear glass shatter as the cricket ball crashed through a window on the upper floor of the manor.

Her siblings’ heads turned to her simultaneously, expressions ranging from horror (Susan) to grudging admiration (Edmund).

“Oh, don’t fuss,” she said. “That room is empty any—”

“ _What on EARTH is going on up there?_ ”

“Oh no,” Lucy muttered. “The Macready.”

“ _Those children_!”

Anne dropped her bat. “We should run.”

“Yes,” said Susan. “Run!”

They ran back inside, turning corners blindly. The Macready’s thundering footsteps seemed to echo around them, impeding their considerable efforts to avoid her. They ended up in a familiar hallway—to some of them, perhaps. Peter was oblivious as he wrenched open the door to the wardrobe room and ushered everyone inside.

“Get in,” he said, nodding at the wardrobe.

Susan stared. “You’ve got to be joking.”

Heavy footsteps sounded down the corridor, getting louder as the distance between them and their punishers got ever smaller.

“Just get in,” Edmund snapped, opening the door and stepping through without hesitation. Lucy followed, then Peter and Susan, and then Anne.

Even with Narnia on the other side, the wardrobe itself was not designed to hold five people. The coats themselves ate up most of the space. They ended up pushing and shoving and colliding with each other all while stumbling in a general backwards direction.

“Get off!”

“That’s my foot!”

“Move back!”

Anne, only slightly panicking with claustrophobia, tried to peer through the darkness to see if the door to Narnia was open today. But there were too many bodies moving around to catch a good look.

Her nose caught the fresh scent of snow, and the tightness in her chest subsided. Thank heavens! Now, to get them out of this bloody wardrobe. She stretched out a hand and pushed gently but firmly with her magic.

Her siblings went sprawling in the snow, sputtering at the sudden wet and cold. For a moment, Peter and Susan remained occupied with removing snow from their collars, but they looked up soon enough. When they did, Anne saw the moment they realised.

“Welcome to Narnia,” said Lucy, a wide grin splitting her face.


	7. Chapter 7

For a moment, Peter and Susan just stared. Anne could understand. Narnia was a beautiful place, even covered in snow and ice.

“Don’t worry,” said Lucy dryly. “I’m sure it’s just your imagination.”

Anne threw back her head and laughed. She reached out and snagged Lucy ‘round the shoulders to pull her in for a hug. “Where did you learn such cheek?”

Lucy simply shrugged. “Here and there.”

“I don’t suppose saying ‘I’m sorry’ would quite cover it,” said Peter, stepping forward gingerly.

Lucy eyed him solemnly. “No, it wouldn’t.”

Peter winced, nodding quickly. “Of course. Yes, I—” He sputtered around a mouthful of snow that Lucy had just thrown at him.

“But this might,” she crowed, already armed with another snowball. She threw it at Susan next, nailing her right in the nose. Susan shrieked, hands coming up to wipe the snow from her face as fast as possible.

“Oh, you—”

In a rare fit of childishness, Susan leaned down, scooped up a handful of snow, and hurled it back at Lucy. It was war now. There were no teams; everyone was fair game. Anne found herself ducking and weaving to avoid getting hit. Lucy’s constant laughter was a bright, happy sound that drew smiles from all of them. Well, almost all of them.

Edmund let out an angry hiss when a stray snowball clipped him in the shoulder. “Stop it!”

His outburst had them ceasing their fight, turning to stare at him. Peter, in particular, more intensely than the others.

“Apologise to Lucy,” he ordered.

Edmund’s eyes were dark, so dark. “What for?”

“You _know_ what,” said Peter. “You thought she was lying, too.”

“No, I didn’t,” retorted Edmund. “If I recall correctly, I said I believed her. I said I believed that she believed this was real.”

Peter advanced on him. “I don’t care. You will apologise. Now.”

Anne saw the way Edmund tensed when Peter took the step forward. She quickly moved to place herself between them.

“Forcing it won’t help,” she said. “Let Edmund get to it in his own time. It’ll mean more that way.”

The ground was far firmer than it looked when she fell, unbalanced by Edmund’s hard shove. Her ankle flared in pain as she heard the quiet crunch of the bone snapping.

“I can speak for myself,” he spat, looking down at her with eyes burning with anger. “I’m sick of you acting like you’re special, always trying to come out looking better than me. You’re nothing but an accident anyway. Mum always told us you were a ‘happy surprise’ but we all know what that actually means. You were a _mistake_. And I wish you’d never been born.”

The pain in Anne’s ankle was nothing to the way her chest felt as it suddenly tightened. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t speak. Her vision was starting to go, dark spots dancing amidst the bright snow.

“Anne? Anne!”

“Anne, breathe!”

“Annie, _please_ ,” Lucy whimpered.

Anne gasped, trying to take in air, but it wasn’t coming. She wheezed, hand scrabbling at her chest as she tried to get her lungs to obey. They refused to expand. Her wheezing grew thinner, almost a whistle, and for a moment Anne truly thought she was about to die. The darkness was taking over, her fingers going numb. Then nothing.

* * *

When Anne came to, she was sat on something furry, head resting on a warm chest that rose and fell with even breaths. Peter. And a coat. He had taken a coat from the wardrobe to use as a bedroll of sorts. Then she realised that she was covered in another such coat, thick and perfect for the frigid weather of Narnia. Narnia! They were still in Narnia. So she must not have been out long. She moved to sit up, alerting Peter to her return to consciousness.

“Anne,” he said, wrapping her in a fierce embrace. “You frightened us.” He pulled back to cradle her face in his hands, peering at her closely. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m…all right,” she rasped. Her throat was dry, like she’d gone for weeks without water.

“What was that?” asked Peter, eyes still darting back and forth over her, checking her for any outward sign of injury. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Anne shuffled back, out of his grip. She was getting uncomfortable with all this attention. She could feel the others’ eyes on them, searching. “I don’t know. It was horrible.”

“I’ve never seen him like that before,” said Peter, eyes darting over to where Edmund must be. Anne was surprised he hadn’t run off somewhere already. He never liked staying around after a fight. “What happened between you two?”

“I don’t know,” she repeated. “Help me up. My bum is going numb from the cold.”

Peter snorted softly, but complied. Anne carefully tested her ankle, hissing quietly when the pain bloomed, hot and sharp. She nearly fell back over were it not for Peter’s quick reflexes.

“You can barely stand,” he observed, dismayed.

“No, no, I’m fine,” she said. She bit her tongue before putting her full weight on both feet. Her ankle screamed profanities at her, but Anne clamped down harder on her tongue until she drew blood. “See? It was just leftover dizziness from lying down for too long.”

Peter shook his head. “I can’t believe you’re still protecting him, after everything this week.” She shot him a quizzical look. “I know you were a bit preoccupied with your… _lady_ things…but it was hard not to notice how he avoided you. Barely looked at you, really. Sometimes you looked like someone had died.”

“Sorry you all got caught up in it,” she said.

“Don’t do that,” said Peter with a scoff and a dismissive wave of his hand. “We just want to help. What happened?”

Anne sighed. “It was my fault.”

“I highly doubt that,” Peter responded immediately.

“Peter,” called Susan, saving Anne from the inquisition. “Shouldn’t we be getting back? Anne’s back on her feet, we should get her someplace warmer to recover.”

“I’m really fine,” Anne protested. “Besides, you’re all finally here. We don’t know when the door will be open again, and Lucy wants you all to meet Mr Tumnus.”

“Even him?” asked Peter, nodding in Edmund’s direction. The boy in question looked away with a scowl.

“Let Lucy decide,” Anne answered. “She met him first.”

Peter’s brow furrowed. “Wait, when did _you_ meet him?” Anne shook her head impatiently. He got the hint. “Fine. All right, Lucy, it’s up to you.”

Lucy’s gaze went right to Anne, her brown doe eyes quivering with worry. Anne made a simple gesture with her hands, indicating that she was fine with whatever Lucy chose.

“I’d really like it if you met Mr Tumnus.”

“Then Mr Tumnus it is,” announced Peter, disappearing for a moment only to reappear with an armful of more coats from the wardrobe. “Everyone grab one.”

Edmund, being the last one to take a coat, was left with one that had rather feminine embellishing. But one look at Peter’s thunderous expression had him swallowing the automatic complaint. Anne, for her part, stayed out of the way, close to Lucy. Part of it was that she didn’t want to move too much and jostle her ankle, and the other part was just plain desire to be away from Edmund. She was done trying to reach out. If Edmund’s goal was to push her away, he had bloody well succeeded.

Peter offered to carry her on his back all the way to Mr Tumnus’s, but Anne shook her head. She would not appear weak. She told Peter she was fine, for the last time, and began slowly siphoning the pain directly into her magic. It was something she’d learned that first night after her period started, when the cramps and aches kept her from sleep. It left her drained and a little unsteady, but it was worth it to see the proud look on Lucy’s face as she explained some things Mr Tumnus taught her about Narnian history.

They rounded the last bend, and there it was again, nestled into the side of the mountain. Mr Tumnus’s home looked a bit different in the daylight. The sunshine made details on the door stand out more. There were carvings in the stone, and Anne wondered if they had some meaning in faun culture.

Getting closer, she realised, with growing horror, that they were not carvings. They were _claw_ marks. Something wasn’t right. Lucy, having seen them too, let out a gasp.

“No!”

Lucy sprinted as best she could in the snow, calling out for Mr Tumnus as she went. Anne followed at a more sedate pace. Even with her magic taking the brunt of her ankle’s injury, she could still feel a dull ache in the bone. She dreaded the moment she would have to take back the full force of it.

Mr Tumnus’s door had been left open a crack, forcibly entered, Anne predicted. One hinge had fallen off completely, leaving the poor door barely hanging on. The inside was dark and cold. Mr Tumnus hadn’t been able to light a fire last night. Tables and chairs were upturned, shattered glass littered the floor, and Mr Tumnus’s portrait of his father was torn in two. Anne crouched down, mindful of the broken glass, and extracted the portrait from the frame. She would give it to Mr Tumnus when they found him, and she would repair it right in front of him.

“Who would do something like this?” said Lucy, despair laced in her tone.

“The faun, Tumnus, is hereby charged with high treason against Her Imperial Majesty, Jadis, Queen of Narnia, for comforting her enemy and fraternising with humans. Signed, Maugrim, Captain of the Secret Police. Long live the Queen.”

Peter lowered the parchment he’d found nailed to the wall, a grim look on his face. “We need to leave.”

“What about Mr Tumnus?” said Lucy. Her small face was set with determination. “I’m the one who kept visiting. It’s my fault he’s been arrested. I won’t leave without helping him.”

“Maybe we should call the police,” said Peter.

Susan took the parchment from him, waving it urgently. “These _are_ the police.”

“All right,” Peter sighed. “Then we’ll think of something else.”

“Why?”

Hearing Edmund’s voice was a shock to her system. Anne was loath to admit that she was actually afraid of what he might say.

“This isn’t our fight. If we go back now, back through the wardrobe, we’ll be safe. We don’t know how things work here. What if this queen is the rightful ruler trying to stop a rebellion? Why should we risk our lives for a declared criminal?”

“Shut up!” hissed Lucy. Her teary glare was no less potent when she aimed it at Edmund. “You don’t know Mr Tumnus, but I do. When he first met me he planned to drug me with tea and take me to the queen, because that’s what she’d ordered everyone to do. He almost did, but his good heart wouldn’t let him in the end. I don’t know about you, but _I_ know that anyone who wants to kidnap children isn’t a good person and shouldn’t be ruling.”

At this point, they should have been ready for anything to happen, but as it turned out, they were not prepared one bit for the sudden appearance of a beaver.

The small brown mammal popped its head in the window of Mr Tumnus’s house and said, “Lucy Pevensie.”

Susan just barely stifled her horrified screech. It came out as a squeak instead. Anne just stared blankly at the beaver. “What.”

The beaver perked up. “Lucy Pevensie?”

Anne shook her head, pointing automatically towards the actual Lucy Pevensie, who was eyeing the beaver with shock and a hint of excitement.

“Yes, that’s me,” said Lucy, stepping forward.

“Tumnus gave this to me,” said the beaver, holding out a white handkerchief. “Just before they took him.”

Lucy’s mouth parted in surprise. “Where did they take him? How can we get him back?”

The beaver shook its head. “We can’t talk out here.” With that, it vanished.

Lucy scrambled to follow, but Peter caught her ‘round the middle. “Not so fast, Lu. We have to discuss this.”

“What’s there to discuss?” she protested. “He knows how to save Mr Tumnus!”

“This is beyond mad,” said Susan, shaking her head. “That was a _talking_ beaver. How can we even trust anything it says? It shouldn’t even be talking!”

“Please,” Lucy begged. “We have to do _something_. I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t try to help.”

“Everything all right?”

The beaver was by the open door, head tilted curiously.

“Yes,” said Peter. “Just talking for a moment.”

“That’s better left for safer quarters,” said the beaver, casting a nervous glance behind.

“He means the trees,” said Lucy. “Some of them are spies.”

“Come on,” urged the beaver. “We need to be sheltered before nightfall.”

“I’m going with him,” Lucy declared.

Anne spoke up for the first time in a while. “You know I won’t let you go alone. Count me in.”

Peter and Susan exchanged a look. “Mum would kill us if she heard we were even entertaining the thought of allowing this,” said Susan.

“We’re not asking permission,” replied Anne. “You can either come with us and make sure we’re safe, or you can tell Mum you thought she’d disapprove and left us on our own safety be damned.”

“We’re going to have a talk about manipulation later,” said Peter, pointing a stern finger at her. “You’ve learnt too much from your twin.” He turned his head to find Edmund. “Speaking of, where is he? He’s coming with us whether he likes it or not.”

Anne followed Peter’s gaze to where Edmund was supposed to be. The corner he’d claimed when they entered was empty. Edmund was gone.


	8. Chapter 8

“We have to split up to find him.”

Peter stared at Anne uncomprehendingly.

“You and Susan stay with Lucy,” she continued. “I’ll go with Mr Beaver here to look for him.”

“Anne,” said Susan. “You can’t go alone. No offence to Mr Beaver, but he’s hardly a suitable protection detail.”

“Well we can’t waste any more time talking about it!” Anne exploded. “We talked and _talked_ enough for Edmund to walk out of here completely unnoticed! He’s out there alone, do you understand? He’s in danger, Susan!”

“Pardon my interruption, but has Edmund been here before?”

Their gazes all shot down to Mr Beaver, who looked much graver than he had when he first appeared.

“No, he’s never—”

“Actually, he has,” said Anne, cutting Peter off. “Lucy and I ran into him as we were leaving the last time we visited Mr Tumnus.”

Mr Beaver’s eyes narrowed. “Did he speak of meeting anyone?”

“He had a cut on his jaw,” said Anne darkly. “Nearly unnoticeable, but it was definitely made by a knife. He didn’t tell me who did it.”

“Then the worst may be true,” said Mr Beaver. “Look at the footsteps.” Sure enough, there was a trail of Edmund-sized prints leading away from Mr Tumnus’s door. “Those lead in the direction of the twin peaks. Do you know who lives there?”

“The White Witch.”

It was Lucy who spoke, her voice strangled with fear.

“I’m going after him,” said Anne, already on the move. The pain in her ankle was growing stronger by the second; her magic was approaching the end of its rope. She ignored it. “If that’s where Edmund’s headed, that’s also where Mr Tumnus will be. We can solve two problems at once, and then we can get out of here.”

She ran—limped—as fast as she could, following the footprints. She had scarcely reached the tree line when something barrelled into her side with the force of a train, sending her tumbling to the ground. Her breath left her lungs in a violent whoosh, leaving her vision dancing with black spots.

She could see it now in her mind’s eye. Edmund, approaching the gates of the Witch’s home, only to be struck down with the same knife that cut him before. Edmund, being led into the Witch’s home as an honoured guest, completely comfortable amongst the foul creatures the Witch called her followers. Edmund, dead. Edmund, alive but hating them. Edmund, dead again. She could see it.

She thrashed in the grip of whoever was holding her. She thrashed and screamed and cursed until her throat was raw. Oh, she knew by now it was Peter holding her down, and she had never felt more betrayed.

“Let me go,” she croaked. “Let me go!”

“I can’t do that,” Peter whispered, pinning her firmly. “I’m sorry, Anne. I can’t lose both of you.”

“He’s not lost!” she screamed, finding new energy to fight. But her brother’s grip was like iron. Tears welled up and flowed with abandon, the chilly air freezing them on her cheeks. Her helplessness fuelled her rage, and she raised a hand without thinking.

“LET ME GO!”

Her guttural roar ended with a thud and a _crunch_ as Peter’s body flew off her and collided with a nearby tree. His limp form lay crumpled at the base of a towering pine, red slowly pooling under him. He didn’t stir.

“Oh god,” someone whispered. Anne didn’t know who. All she saw was Peter, who only ever tried to do right by them, broken on the ground because of her. She wasn’t even sure he was breathing.

She crawled over to him. “Peter?” She shook him gently. “Peter, wake up.” She shook him again, harder. “Wake up, Peter. I’m sorry. Please wake up.”

Someone tore her hands off of Peter’s body. Susan. Her older sister was frantic. Her hands fluttered over him without touching, terrified of injuring him further. Susan looked up, meeting Anne’s eyes.

“What have you _done_?”

Susan’s face was colourless as she stared at Anne. There were so many things in it at once, it was hard to process them all. Fear was the largest presence. But why? Fear of Anne? Fear for Peter? Their safety? All of it, perhaps.

“I can’t feel a pulse,” said Susan blankly, two fingers pressed to Peter’s neck.

“Fix it.”

Anne turned to look at Lucy. “I don’t know how.”

“Fix it,” repeated Lucy, voice shrill and brittle. “You broke it, so _fix it_!”

Silently, Anne turned back to Peter’s still form. She closed her eyes, begging, pleading to any and all gods she knew of. _Help me!_

She set her hand on Peter’s heart, ignoring Susan’s gasp and subsequent protests. All of it faded into the background as she focused entirely on Peter. Fix it, Lucy had said. _Fix it. Fix it._

Anne felt the energy begin to drain from her, flowing down her arm, into her palm. It gathered there, pulsing hot and steady. She pushed it into Peter’s heart. As hard as she could. _Fix it. Fix it. Fix it._

Peter’s heartbeat burst back into existence, strong as the man Anne knew him to be. It thumped rapidly at first, calming down after a few moments. With her eyes still closed, Anne didn’t see Peter’s open. She didn’t see how the snow around them melted away, making way for grass and wildflowers to grow rapidly before everyone’s eyes. She didn’t feel her own ankle healing, bones and ligaments knitting themselves back together.

“Anne!”

The shaking got her attention quickly. She shrugged off the hand doing the shaking, mouth turned down in a furious scowl. “Stop that.”

She opened her eyes to a bright blue sky, nothing like the dull grey she was sure it had been not a minute ago. It was also warm, for once. Too warm for a fur coat. In fact, there was no sign of winter at all. The tree branches were perky with the absence of snow, the grass beneath her knees lush and warm. Wildflowers poked their heads out from between blades of grass, dotting the clearing with purple, pink, and yellow.

“So it’s true,” Mr Beaver whispered reverently.

“Anne?” someone said, and Peter! Oh, Peter. He was back. He was awake. Anne turned her head to meet her brother’s confused gaze. “What happened?”

“I’m sorry,” she said, looking down at her hands. Such small things, but capable of so much damage. “I didn’t mean to.”

Then something amazing happened. Peter’s expression softened, and he looked at her with a rueful smile. “That plane didn’t blow up on its own, did it?”

Anne shook her head wordlessly.

“I knew something was dodgy about it,” he declared. “I just didn’t think it would be this outlandish.”

“I’m…” Anne trailed off, feeling the weight of the stares on her. Peter, Susan, Lucy, Mr Beaver. They were all there, and now they all knew. They knew what she was.

“I’m tired.” She covered her face with her hands, unable to take it anymore. “I’m so, so tired.”

“Let’s get you somewhere you can rest then,” said Mr Beaver. “All of you. There’s nothing to be done for Edmund now.”

* * *

Mr Beaver’s home was a hut, really. An expertly crafted hut, but still a hut made of sticks and twigs. He lived in it with his wife, Mrs Beaver, a lovely beaver with a kind voice. The place was hardly meant to fit four humans, but Anne was just glad to have a place she could fall asleep in. She did exactly that.

When she woke up, it was to the smell of tea. Then the voices filtered in and she understood that a serious conversation was being had.

“I never thought I’d live to see this day,” said Mrs Beaver. “And just look at my fur!” A noise like a smack sounded, paired with Mr Beaver’s yelp. “You couldn’t have given me a warning?”

“You look marvellous,” said Mr Beaver soothingly.

Anne opened her eyes a crack. They were all seated around a small table, the Beavers’ dining table. A plate of fish and chips sat on the table, with Lucy picking at it half-heartedly. Anne’s mouth watered with hunger, but she quelled the urge in favour of listening in on the discussion.

“You mentioned someone who could help us get Edmund back,” said Peter.

“And free Mr Tumnus,” Lucy added.

“Aye,” said Mr Beaver. “There’s only one person powerful enough to stand up to the Witch. And he’s just in time, too. Aslan is on the move.”

_Who?_

“Sorry, who’s Aslan?” That was Peter, always reading her mind.

Mr Beaver chuckled before realising Peter wasn’t joking. “He’s only the king of the whole wood!”

“He’s the true king of Narnia,” said Lucy.

“How did he let this mess with the Witch happen, then?” asked Susan. “It reeks of negligence to me.”

“Aslan has many duties that call him to faraway lands,” Mrs Beaver explained. “Now, I don’t know all the details, but the Witch seized power after biding her time for nearly a century. By then she was powerful enough to trap the land in winter and bar Aslan from returning.”

“But he just got back,” said Mr Beaver. “And he’s waiting for you at the Stone Table.”

“Waiting for us?” said Lucy.

“How does he know about us?” Susan asked, suspicion darkening her tone.

“You’re joking,” Mr Beaver exclaimed in dismay. He turned to his wife. “They don’t even know about the prophecy!”

“Then tell us,” said Peter.

“Look, it explains everything that’s happening now. Aslan’s return, Tumnus’s arrest, the Secret Police…it’s all happening because of you.”

“Are you blaming us?” said Susan coldly. “We haven’t done a thing.”

“No, no!” Mrs Beaver was quick to correct. “We’re _thanking_ you.”

Susan’s outrage died, replaced with pure confusion.

“The prophecy states,” said Mr Beaver. “When Adam’s flesh and Adam’s bone sits at Cair Paravel in throne, the evil time will be over and done.”

Susan nearly snorted, catching herself at the last moment. “It doesn’t really rhyme.”

Before Mr Beaver could get too agitated, Mrs Beaver placed a paw on his shoulder. “It has long been foretold that two sons of Adam and two daughters of Eve will together defeat the White Witch and restore peace to Narnia.”

“Just four of us?” said Lucy. “We’re five. Why is one of us missing?”

“Now that is another legend altogether,” said Mr Beaver. “And it has everything to do with _her_.”

Anne quickly closed her eyes when it became obvious that she was the ‘her’ in the equation. She briefly pondered the idea of ‘waking up’ before dismissing it. Better to keep feigning sleep. People tended to have looser tongues when the subject was out of earshot. Besides, if she was awake, Susan would force her to have a Big Discussion, and she was decidedly not ready for that.

“Is this about Anne’s magic?” Lucy asked hesitantly.

“Magic?” repeated Susan. “Is that what we’re calling it? Did you see what she did to Peter?”

“But she saved us back in Finchley,” Lucy retorted hotly. “She saved all our lives. Nearly at the cost of her own.”

“Lucy…you knew?” Peter’s voice was filled with incredulity. It was understandable. The last person they’d have ever expected to keep secrets was Lucy. “How long have you known?”

Lucy shook her head firmly. “Not telling.”

“A while, then,” Peter guessed. “I can’t…I can’t deal with that right now. We’ll talk about it when she wakes up.” There was a pause, then some rustling. And then, “So you think we’re the ones in this prophecy?”

“Well you’d better be,” Mr Beaver barked out. “’Cause Aslan’s already figured out your army.”

“ _Army?_ ”

For once, Anne could appreciate the pitch Susan’s shrill ‘Mum’ voice could reach. She quite agreed with the sentiment. What army?

“We came here to get away from the fighting,” Susan continued, sounding increasingly disturbed. Her chair screeched as she stood abruptly. “Lucy, go wake your sister. It’s time for us to go.”

“You can’t just leave,” said Mr Beaver.

“He’s right,” said Lucy. “Edmund’s still trapped, and so is Mr Tumnus!”

“We’ll come back with grownups,” replied Susan. “People who are trained to fight. It’s ridiculous to expect four or five children to fight a war for a country they’ve never lived in.”

Anne realised then it was probably not to her advantage to stay asleep anymore. She began to stir, going through the lethargic movements of one just waking from a deep sleep.

“Annie,” Lucy gasped. “Are you feeling better?”

“Much,” she said, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “What have I missed?”


	9. Chapter 9

Anne couldn’t keep her gaze from straying to Peter, just to make sure he was still okay. She found him looking back at her, trademark concern in his eyes. But there was something else buried underneath, a wariness that she’d never seen before. But then, she’d always known there would be consequences the day her powers finally came to light.

Before she could say something to him, before anyone could say something to _her_ , a branch snapped outside. The crack was followed by another. Then another.

“The wolves,” said Mr Beaver, his voice hushed.

Mrs Beaver jolted into motion, grabbing a basket off a shelf and piling what seemed like the entire kitchen into it. “You’ll thank me later when we’re dealing with Beaver’s hunger pangs,” she said by way of explanation. Basket filled to her satisfaction, Mrs Beaver scurried over to a section of bare wall and pushed. It fell away to reveal a small, dark passageway. “Follow me.”

“I can’t go in there,” said Susan, voice trembling. “I can’t.”

Susan was claustrophobic, Anne remembered quickly. Oh, this must be her worst nightmare. Anne stepped forward to comfort her, but Susan recoiled as if she’d been struck.

“Don’t touch me,” she hissed.

Anne backed away instantly, hands raised in surrender, ignoring the way her eyes prickled with tears. It was understandable. And Susan was already on edge because of the tunnel. “Sorry,” Anne muttered.

A pair of hands landed on her shoulders, making her jump. Peter. His presence behind her was steady and unyielding, his grip on her shoulders firm but not overpowering. “We’ll have time for a talk later, after we get Edmund back,” he said. “But right now it’s this or the wolves. You choose.” Peter didn’t wait for a reply as he grabbed an extinguished torch from the wall nearby. He turned back to Anne. “Can you light this?”

Anne shook her head. “Fire is dangerous.” _And I don’t want to hurt you again_.

“Try,” encouraged Peter. Lucy gave her a bright grin from where she stood by Mr Beaver.

Hesitantly, Anne took the torch from him. She scarcely dared to breathe as she opened herself up to her magic. With a great _whoosh_ , the torch blazed to life with a flame nearly twice the size needed. Had the Beavers’ home not been built with snow-dampened wood, the inside of their lovely home would have been very singed indeed.

“Oh no,” said Anne, automatically reaching out with her bare hand as if to cap the flames.

“No don’t—”

Whatever Peter was going to say died in his throat as Anne’s hand passed through the flames…and didn’t burn. It barely even tickled. The flames licked at her fingers affectionately, almost like they were greeting her.

“I’ll be damned,” breathed Peter, something like wonder in his voice. He shot her a teasing glance. “Looks like you’re not a witch after all.”

* * *

By nightfall, they were far away from the Beavers’ home, and even further from England. They made camp in a small cave tucked into the side of the mountain. It was a chilly night, and they dared not light a fire in fear of the smoke being a dead giveaway. Even trapped in close quarters as they were, Anne had never felt so far away from her family—Lucy included. There was a great canyon between them now, one filled with suspicion and sorcery, and the memory of Peter’s blood, bright red against the white snow.

No one slept well that night, but when dawn broke, there was no time to lose. They were up and moving east, following the rising sun. The terrain began to change, almost without notice, but Anne registered how her footing became steadier, breath coming easier. They were leaving the mountains. Snow still covered everything in sight, just to a lesser extent. Anne fancied she could feel the actual earth beneath the snow as she walked.

Were it not for their missing sibling and the wolves tracking them, Anne could pretend this was a lovely countryside stroll while on holiday. In some places, the snow layer had thawed enough to reveal the tips of the grass below, dotting the flat white with a healthy green freckling. It was in one such clearing that they stumbled upon a harsh reminder that this was _not_ a holiday.

Everything looked completely normal, save for the stone-grey statues of a couple rabbits, a squirrel, and a badger. Their delicately expressive faces were contorted with fear, pain, outrage.

“No,” Mr Beaver muttered, standing before the stone badger. He bowed his head.

“They were friends,” Mrs Beaver told Anne quietly.

“She can really do it,” whispered Lucy, coming to stand next to them. “Mr Tumnus told me about it, but I didn’t really believe him. She can turn people to stone…”

“Oh, she can do a lot more than that,” came a dry voice.

With a roar that far outstripped his size, Mr Beaver charged the intruder, knocking him off his perch, paws over tail. “You filthy traitor! Did you sell them out, you mutt?”

“Stop,” shouted the intruder, clambering back onto his paws. “I had nothing to do with this.”

The intruder, now identifiable as a fox, shook out his bright orange pelt, dislodging clumps of snow. His whiskers twitched irritably as he shot Mr Beaver a glare. When his gaze reached Anne and her siblings, however, his eyes widened in amazement.

“It’s true, then,” he said. “Aslan was right.”

“You didn’t believe him right away?” Anne asked.

“I like to keep a healthy amount of doubt when it comes to these things,” the fox replied with a small chuckle. “Prophecies.”

Anne grinned, instantly liking this fox. “Smart.”

“You can relax,” the fox added, glancing at Mr Beaver, who still looked ready to rip him apart. “I’m one of the good guys.”

“You look awful lot like the bad ones,” growled Mr Beaver.

The fox sighed loudly. “An unfortunate family resemblance. But we can argue breeding later.” He flicked his tufted tail impatiently. “We need to move.”

“Have the wolves caught up to us already?” said Anne, already scanning the clearing for any sign of them.

“Not quite,” said the fox. “But they’re much closer than you want them to be. I know a few paths that will throw them off the track for a bit.”

“You want us to trust you after you conveniently show up to ‘help’?” Mr Beaver scoffed.

“You’re not exactly spoiled for choices here,” said the fox, and if he had eyebrows, Anne was certain one of them would be raised.

“I trust him,” she said, looking down at the fox. She didn’t know what it was, but something in his mischievous green eyes, something about his clever quips had her confident in her opinion. He would not betray them.

Mr Beaver narrowed his eyes at Anne. “You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

The fox shot her a wink, then darted out of the clearing, fully expecting them to follow. And follow they did, for twists and turns and turns and twists until Anne wondered if they were just going in circles. The sun was significantly lower in the sky when the fox finally stopped in another clearing.

“This is where I leave you,” he said. “Aslan has tasked me with gathering more troops for your army, majesties. I hope we’ll meet again.”

Reeling slightly from being addressed as ‘Majesty’ in an unironic way, Anne returned the fox’s bow. “I hope so too, Mr Fox. It’s been an honour.”

Mr Fox shook his head. “Thank you, your highness, but the honour is truly mine.”

“Will you do me a favour?” Anne asked.

“Of course,” said the fox.

“I’m sure you’ve noticed that we’re missing one person,” she said. “My twin, Edmund. He’s…with the White Witch. In what capacity, I don’t know. If you see him, and he seems to be in distress, would you let him know that the secret clause in our pact is in effect?”

The fox bowed low once more. “If it’s within my power, it will be done, Majesty.”

With that, the fox turned tail and sped off into the woods.

* * *

“Nearly there,” called Mr Beaver. “Just the river now.”

Everyone brightened slightly at the mention of an end to their journey, but it was a silent sort of happiness. It had been another cold, nearly sleepless night yesterday, and another long morning of travel. Tired and hungry and homesick, there was no energy left to spend on words.

“Hurry now!”

For most of them, that is. Mr Beaver was in oddly high spirits for someone who’d found a friend turned to stone.

“Come on, hurry!”

“If he says that one more time, I’m going to turn him into a big, fluffy hat,” muttered Peter darkly.

“Hurry up! Come on!”

“Right, that’s it,” Peter snarled.

“No, behind you,” shouted Mr Beaver, gesturing frantically. “It’s _her_!”

They heard the bells first, sleigh bells, high and clear. Then came the pounding of the hooves of at least six horses or similar animals. Both sounds grew rapidly louder, spurring Anne and her siblings into motion. They ran into the tree line, weaving in and out of trees in an attempt to skew their trail. They ended up diving into a small hollow on the side of a hill, hoping it would provide adequate cover.

The ringing of the bells grew louder still, but the hoofbeats began to slow. They stopped entirely after a few moments. There was a quiet thud, then footsteps. Heavy footsteps, very _not_ consistent with Mr Tumnus’s descriptions of the Witch as a painfully thin woman. Mr Beaver sniffed the air curiously, having also picked up on the difference. He crawled out of the hollow and peeked over the top of the hill.

“Oh,” he gasped. “Come on out.”

“Who is it?” Mrs Beaver asked.

Mr Beaver just beckoned them forth. “I hope you’ve all been good.”

Thoroughly confused, they followed Mrs Beaver over the hill. Standing by his sleigh, every inch the jolly man in red legend had him out to be, was Father Christmas. Anne realised she’d been wrong about how many animals were pulling the sleigh. It wasn’t six, it was eight reindeer who stood harnessed to the large sleigh, occasionally snorting and stomping their feet.

Lucy bounded forward, brown eyes sparkling. “Merry Christmas, sir!”

“It certainly is, Lucy, since you arrived,” said Father Christmas, beaming widely.

“We thought you were the Witch,” said Peter.

“Ah, yes. I’m sorry about that. But in my defence, I have been driving one of these—” He gestured to his sleigh. “—for much longer than her.”

“How do you know our names?” Anne asked.

“I am, in fact, quite a bit older than even my appearance suggests,” said Father Christmas. “One does not reach an age like this without acquiring some tricks.”

Her brows rose. “Would the magician care to reveal his secret?”

“Perhaps,” he chuckled. “But first, we must take care of some urgent business.” He pulled one sack out from the sizeable pile on his sleigh. “I daresay you could do with some of these.”

Lucy barely stifled a squeal. “Presents!”

Father Christmas’s smile was indulgent as he knelt in front of Lucy, handing her a small box. Nestled inside was a glass bottle tucked into a brown leather pouch, and a dagger with a bright red sheath. He pointed to the bottle first. “The juice of the fire-flower. One drop will cure any injury. And though I hope you never have to use it, a queen should always be armed.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Lucy, frowning uncertainly at the dagger. “But I’m not sure I could be brave enough to use it.”

“I think you’ll soon come to find that you are,” Father Christmas disagreed. “But battles are ugly affairs.”

He stood, dusting off his coat as he did. “Susan. Trust in this; it will not easily miss.”

The girl in question stepped forward, reluctantly accepting the bow and quiver of arrows. “What happened to ‘battles are ugly affairs’?” she said dryly.

Father Christmas just shook his head and laughed. He reached into his bag and withdrew a white horn, offering it to Susan. “Though you don’t seem to have a problem making yourself heard, blow once, and wherever you are, help will come.”

That made Susan smile, and she accepted it with a nod. “Thank you.”

“Peter,” he said, joviality fading into seriousness. “The time you use these may be near at hand.”

Peter’s gifts consisted of a silver shield and sword. The shield bore the rather impressive crest of a red lion rampant. The sword gleamed in the sunlight when Peter unsheathed it, and Anne could see the flat of the blade was detailed with a cursive, flowing script.

“Thank you,” said Peter, bowing respectfully to Father Christmas. “I’ll do my best.”

Anne began to fidget in place. She had absolutely no idea what the seemingly omniscient Father Christmas was going to say to her. Or reveal about her.

“Now, Anne, I have it on good authority that you need no weapon to defend yourself,” said Father Christmas. “You seem to have an affinity for fire.”

“Perhaps it’s that fire has an affinity for me,” she replied.

An amused smile spread over his face. “That may well be true.” From his bag, Father Christmas pulled out a small wooden box, even smaller than Lucy’s. “This is not something I made. I’m afraid I don’t possess the skill nor tools to. I gained it during my travels long ago, knowing it was meant for you.”

Anne took the box, opening it to find a round pendant on a golden chain. The pendant itself was quite small and discreet, but after looking closer she discovered what made it special. The little circle seemed to contain fire itself. It was not a frozen image of fire, like a photograph, no. It was _alive_ in there. The flames were ever-changing, and Anne even spotted different colours within the swirling red and orange. Blue, purple, even green flickered in and out of existence. To be honest, it looked like the plane explosion, but infinitely more beautiful and ethereal.

When Anne put the necklace on, her breath caught in her chest. “I can feel it,” she breathed, dazed and slightly dizzy. Was this what being drunk felt like? The feeling soon faded, leaving Anne panting in its wake. She reached a hand up to touch the pendant. “It’s like a little heartbeat next to my own.”

“Fire is life, and life itself was born in fire,” said Father Christmas with a satisfied nod. “It has accepted you. I wasn’t entirely sure it would.”

“What if it hadn’t accepted me?” Anne asked.

“I have seen it consume others who have tried to wear it.”

Anne stared. “Consume? As in burn alive?”

“Yes.”

She spoke her next sentence very slowly. “You gave this to me knowing it was possible that I’d die after putting it on?”

“I was almost certain it wouldn’t,” the old man reassured her.

“Somehow, that doesn’t make me feel any better,” said Anne. “What does it do?”

“At the time of your direst need, simply smash the pendant,” he instructed. “You will know what to do then.”

Anne looked down at the pendant again. The flames inside chased each other merrily, like a hoard of excited puppies. “This is a priceless gift. Thank you.”

“One more thing,” said Father Christmas, holding up a slim box. “This, I did make myself.”

“You’ve given me more than enough,” said Anne, shaking her head.

“My pride as a toymaker demands it,” he insisted. She sighed, conceding. She would not be known as the one who upset Father Christmas.

“These are meant to be thrown,” he said as she opened the box to reveal a beautiful set of small daggers. There were six in total, each hilt bearing a different colour: red, orange, yellow, green, blue, and purple, all inlaid with gold—a perfect complement to her pendant. “I trust you know how to call them back with your magic.”

Anne nodded, closing the box with reverence. “I don’t know how to thank you. You’ve given me so much.”

“Fulfil the prophecy,” said Father Christmas, getting back on his slay. “That is all I ask—pray of you.”

With a sharp snap of the reins, the sleigh burst into motion, disappearing over the horizon with a speed that could be nothing short of magical.

“But I’m not even part of the prophecy,” mumbled Anne. “What on earth am I supposed to be doing here?”


	10. Chapter 10

Anne struggled with where to store the daggers, having no belt or otherwise to secure them to her person like Peter and Lucy. She settled for stuffing them in the large pockets of her fur coat, hoping they wouldn’t fall out. She shifted uncomfortably, feeling like the coat was starting to stick to her skin. She didn’t know if it was the exertion of the journey or if it was somehow getting warmer in Narnia, but she was sweating and she didn’t like it one bit.

When they reached the river, it was apparent that the latter was true. The river, which Mr and Mrs Beaver had sworn had been frozen for decades, was now full of jagged chunks of ice. The thaw made the dark water swirl dangerously with a strong current, dashing any wild ideas of somehow swimming across.

“Hopscotch?” Anne suggested weakly.

Peter frowned at the river, looking like he was seriously considering it.

“I’m joking,” said Anne, just in case he was.

Lucy hummed thoughtfully, brow furrowed as she too considered the river and the dilemma. “Annie, remember what you did with the books?”

Anne stilled, catching on to what Lucy was leading to. “Are you completely mad?”

“Just think of it like really big books!” encouraged Lucy. “With people sitting on them. Besides, you’ve already blown up a plane, how hard could this be?”

“Ice is _slippery_ , Lu,” Anne protested. “My books are still shaky. How do you think I’d fare with giant chunks of ice?”

“Hang on,” Peter interjected. “Lucy’s onto something here. We can’t afford to go around, and it’s too dangerous to try and swim. This day can’t possibly get any crazier. Why not give it a go?”

“Famous last words,” said Anne, pinching the bridge of her nose. “All right. Lucy, you’re first since you’re the lightest. Then Susan, then Peter. Mr and Mrs Beaver—”

“We can actually swim,” said Mrs Beaver, waving a soothing paw at her. “No need to worry about us. We’ll see you on the other side.”

With that, the two beavers were off, leaving them to their rather outrageous plan. Anne honestly could not believe she was about to try this.

“Why can’t you just, er, levitate us directly,” asked Susan, looking directly at Anne for the first time in days. Granted, she did it with obvious difficulty, but Anne was happy to take what she could get. “Why bother with the ice?”

Anne raised an eyebrow at Lucy. “Want to tell her why, bug?”

“It tickles,” said Lucy solemnly.

“It tickles,” echoed Susan blankly.

“No, I mean, it _really_ tickles.” Lucy eyes widened with emphasis. “Annie tried it once with me. It’s like every inch of your skin becomes a ticklish spot and her magic pokes at every single one. Over and over. I laughed so hard I nearly fainted.”

Susan’s jaw dropped. “Is _that_ what you two were giggling about that day?”

“Probably,” Anne shrugged. “So, ice it is.” She directed Lucy off to the side near the riverbank. “Right, so I’m going to fetch you a nice sturdy piece of ice just to see how well I can control it first. Then we’ll see how I do with you on it over land, and then we’ll send you over the water as quickly as I can safely manage.”

Lucy nodded, the beginnings of a smile turning up the corners of her mouth. Anne scowled at her. “Well you don’t have to be so hideously excited about it. I don’t even know if I can lift the thing out of the water.”

“You can do it,” said Lucy, ignoring her petulance. “I trust you.”

Anne let those words wash over her as she closed her eyes and concentrated. Lucy was counting on her. So was Peter and Susan, and Edmund. Oh god, _Edmund_. She needed to do this.

She felt the familiar tug in her chest, her magic rising up to greet her. She opened her eyes and examined the surface of the water, searching for an ice floe that wasn’t too big or small and had a relatively large flat surface that Lucy could comfortably sit on. There! Anne reached out and carefully grabbed it, and lifted. Water streamed over the sides as the ice floe began to rise shakily. Anne grit her teeth, and the floe steadied. She brought it over to the bank and set it down gently.

“Your chariot awaits,” she announced grandly, bowing her head to Lucy. “Climb on, stab it with your dagger, and hold on it like you would the pommel of a horse saddle.”

“Got it,” said Lucy, already scrambling up to sit on the ice. She pulled out her dagger and plunged it into the middle of the floe, wiggling it a bit to make sure it was secure.

“Okay, here we go,” Anne warned. “Hang on tight.”

She reached out again to lift the ice, feeling a slight strain from the added weight. Not too much, thankfully, for Lucy weighed about as much as a cat soaking wet. With only a mildly disturbing amount of unsteadiness, Anne got Lucy over the river and onto the other side.

“Yes!” cried Lucy as she slid off the ice. “That was so fun!”

“Let’s never do it again,” Anne called in reply, but the success loosened some of the tension in her shoulders. She turned to Susan. “Ready?”

Susan was visibly not ready. Pale and trembling, she tightened her jaw, squared her shoulders, and stepped forward. Anne had never admired her more. “Ready.”

Anne was ready to lift Susan and her iceberg into the air when they heard the howls. The wolves! The Secret Police had caught up to them. Anne turned her head to see them leaping down the rocks that made up the cliff face of the waterfall a ways upstream.

“We’re out of time,” said Anne, panic infusing her tone. “Peter, get on with Susan. Use your sword like I told Lucy.”

“What about you?” Peter protested. “I’m not leaving you alone here.”

“I’ll be fine,” she said impatiently, pushing him towards the iceberg. “I can get you two over and then myself before they arrive. But we can’t stand here and argue about it. There’s no _time_. Go!”

Peter was forced to obey her, and she had them up the air a bit too fast. It was heavy. The pull at her chest was much stronger. It _hurt_. The ice floe wobbled dangerously, causing Susan to shriek and grab Peter to steady herself.

Anne winced, and tried harder to keep it level. “Sorry!”

“Just get it over with quickly,” shouted Susan. “Then get yourself over here.”

Anne had just set them down on the other side when the first wolf burst from the tree line. She placed her back to the river, ignoring Peter and Susan’s cries for her to hurry. She eyed the wolf cautiously, wondering why it wasn’t charging at her right away. It seemed to be waiting for something. Three more wolves arrived, and Anne realised it wasn’t a something, it was a someone. The leader. It had to be. The other wolves fanned out behind this wolf, one slightly larger than the others.

“Look what we have here,” it growled, beady eyes gleaming with delight. “A little magician. I know someone who wants to meet you.”

Anne backed up slowly, staying aware of the ice floes behind her. “I think you’ve confused the word ‘meet’ with ‘kill’.”

“My queen has great plans for you and your brother,” said the wolf. “Edmund, isn’t it?”

“Don’t you dare say his name,” she snapped, still backing away. “And your so-called queen can go to hell.” Anne spun and took a running leap off what little riverbank there was left. As she flew through the air, she prayed that her timing was right.

The breath left her lungs as she collided with the iceberg. She promptly slid to the edge, teetering dangerously close to the water. Her feet and hands scrabbled for purchase on the slick surface of the floe. Her hand finally caught a divot in the ice, making her hiss with pain as the razor-sharp edge bit into her fingers, drawing blood. Ignoring it, she used her handhold to pull herself back onto the middle of the floe and sit up.

“Annie!” cried Lucy. “You’re going to go too far downstream!”

Anne looked to her right, and saw that Lucy was correct. If she went any further she’d be caught in violent rapids that would tear her ice floe apart. Not to mention herself. She had to get back upstream and across the rest of the river. Quickly.

A split-second test had her accepting that her powers were not going to get her across. She was too drained from earlier. She reached into her pockets and pulled out her knives. She threw four as hard as she could to the other bank to retrieve later. The remaining two she held in her hands as she stood, eyeing the river for another iceberg to jump on.

“I jinxed myself,” she muttered. “Hopscotch indeed.”

Without giving herself time to second-guess it, Anne targeted a floe and jumped. She landed clumsily, stabbing the surface with a knife as she slid across the top. It slowed her enough to avoid falling off the other side, and she straightened up to look for the next one. She was about three quarters of the way across now. Just two more jumps, and she’d have made it.

The next jump was a solid one. Anne grinned wildly. If Lucy thought floating on a piece of ice was fun, she’d never done this! Anne readied herself for her final jump, already planning the different ways she was going to kiss the ground when she got to it. She jumped, and the ice she was standing on cracked. It threw off her trajectory, sending her careening too far to the left. She missed her ice floe mere centimetres. As she plunged into the water, all she could think was, _Peter is going to murder me_.

It was so cold. She couldn’t move. The icy water seemed to grip every limb and lock it in place. They wouldn’t obey her brain’s frantic shrieks to _MOVE_! There was no air in her chest. She hadn’t been prepared to go under. Everything was numb. In fact, it wasn’t so cold anymore. It was getting warmer. Something good must be happening. Anne’s vision left her. _Fuck, not again_.

* * *

Anne awoke to fire in her lungs and throat as she spewed river water all over Peter’s face. As if she needed that mortification to add to whatever lecture she knew Peter had already prepared. She coughed and sputtered and generally hacked her innards out until she was able to breathe normally again. The soothing hand on her back slid away, Anne’s body instinctively following it for the warmth it provided. Susan huffed good-naturedly returning her hand to where it was. Wait a minute, Susan? Anne was sure Susan hated her now. Her confusion must have been apparent on her face because Susan rolled her eyes.

“Later.”

“Anne—”

“Peter,” Anne rasped, cutting him off. “Can we save the lecture for another time and tell me why I’m naked instead?”

Peter went beet red, ducking his head. “You were getting hypothermic. Your clothes were wet and so were everyone else’s, so there was no choice, really. And you’re not _really_ naked. You’ve got clothes covering your—” He gestured wildly with one hand. “—bits.”

“I see,” she said dryly. “My _bits_ and I thank you for that.”

“I turned around,” Peter mumbled. “Susan and Lucy removed your clothes.”

Anne began to laugh, a weak croak of her usual full sound. “I’d like to put my clothes back on now.”

“Of course!” Peter whipped around. “There over there hanging on the tree.”

When she got to the aforementioned tree, she noticed something. It was flowering. All of the trees were. She looked down at her bare feet. There was no snow. Just grass. Cold and wet grass, but grass nonetheless. Spring had arrived.


	11. Chapter 11

“How did I get out of the water?” Anne asked Lucy as they walked. They had all removed their coats, and their clothes were nearly dry. It was a bit unbelievable how much the weather had changed. Not two days ago they were shivering in their coats, and now they were rolling up the sleeves of their shirts and removing their jumpers. Anne had checked the pockets of her coat too, and found all of her daggers present and accounted for. Apparently, Peter had gone to gather them while her sisters undressed her.

“Er,” was all Lucy said.

“Oh no,” Anne groaned. “Did I do something weird?”

“I don’t know if it was you doing it,” said Lucy. “Or the river. It kind of…spat you back out.”

Anne was silent for a moment, processing. Finally, she said, “I don’t know if I’m flattered it wanted me to live or offended that it rejected my humble sacrifice.”

Lucy giggled. “Peter was about to jump in after you when the river kind of just dropped you on the bank just in front of us.”

“What, like it formed a giant hand and just put me on the shore?”

“No, more like a wave washed up the riverbank and left you on it,” said Lucy.

Anne frowned. “I think I’m definitely offended. It just discarded me like some old boot! I’m not a piece of debris, River!”

Lucy’s giggle became a full-blown laugh. “It can’t hear you anymore.”

“Says who?” Anne scoffed. “There’s water everywhere. I’m sure it can carry a message.”

Whatever Lucy was about to say was rudely interrupted by the bellowing of a great horn. Anne looked around for the source, finding it in a tall centaur with dark, glossy hair. He bowed his head as they passed.

Mr and Mrs Beaver led them past the scatterings of tents on the outskirts, directly into the heart of the camp where the tents were densely clustered. Anne amused herself with pointing out the various types of Narnians to Lucy as they moved along, pulling from her folklore knowledge to do so. So far they’d passed fauns, centaurs, gryphons, a dryad, and a wide variety of what Anne assumed were more talking animals. And all were clad in armour. This was a war camp.

“Why are they all staring at us?” muttered Susan, eyes darting left and right.

“Maybe they think you look funny,” Lucy whispered, poking her in the side.

Susan rolled her eyes, something, Anne noticed, she’d been doing a lot more recently. Given the circumstances, though, Anne didn’t blame her one bit.

They finally stopped in front of a large red tent, the largest of them all. Peter stepped forward, bowing slightly to the imposing centaur guarding it. “We have come to see Aslan,” he said.

The centaur turned his head towards the tent in lieu of an answer, dipping his head and placing a strong fist over his chest. Anne chanced a quick glance around, shocked to see a healthy gathering of Narnians behind them, mirroring the move respectfully. She was beginning to wonder if they needed to do that too when the tent flaps opened.

A large paw emerged from the drapes, followed by a massive golden head covered in a luxurious mane. Strong limbs led up to a powerful body with muscles that rippled and shifted as he moved. Deep golden eyes peered out at the gathered crowd, heavy with knowledge and warmth. Aslan, eternal King of Narnia, padded towards them on silent paws.

Anne nudged Peter. “Did we know he was a lion?”

“No,” Peter whispered back. “Just go with it.”

“I thought he was going to be some old Merlin type,” she muttered gleefully. “This is so much better.”

Aslan’s gaze fell on her, pinning her in place with its weight and intensity. Shit. Had he heard her? Scarcely moving her lips, she spoke to Peter again.

“Do you think we should bow?”

“Can’t hurt,” Peter replied.

Following his lead, Anne and her siblings bowed low, holding it for as long as it was comfortable, then straightened.

Aslan spoke, and his voice was a low rumble that sent shivers down Anne’s spine. “Welcome Peter, son of Adam. Welcome Susan and Lucy, daughters of Eve. And welcome to you, Beavers, you have my thanks.” His eyes darkened with worry. “But where is the fourth?”

Anne’s eyes narrowed. “And Edmund has the gall to feel overlooked.” She looked down at herself. “Have I turned myself invisible by accident?”

“I didn’t know you could do that,” said Lucy.

Anne rolled her eyes, somehow not caring if Aslan saw. “I can’t. That was the point.”

_Peace, dear one, I shall speak with you later_.

Anne tensed instantly. _What the bloody fuck was that?_

_Language_.

Her head jerked up to Aslan. “That was you?”

“What?” Lucy asked. “What was me?”

“Never mind,” Anne hissed back.

“That’s why we’re here,” said Peter. “We need your help. Our brother’s been captured by the White Witch.”

The gasps spread amongst the crowd like wildfire. On his platform above them, Aslan frowned. Anne was rather amazed that a lion could even pull off that expression, but then again, she had met other Narnians fully capable of such a thing, like the Beavers and Mr Fox.

“Captured? How could this happen?”

“He betrayed them, Your Majesty,” Mr Beaver answered hesitantly.

“Now that is just wildly untrue,” Anne declared loudly, stepping forward. “Thank you, Mr Beaver, but I’ll take it from here.” She raised her chin, meeting Aslan’s gaze without fear. The touch of insolence was probably unnecessary, but she wasn’t above mild pettiness in politics. “My brother is a _prisoner_. If he is as vital as this prophecy of yours says he is, you will make every attempt to rescue him.”

“Peace, daughter of Eve,” said Aslan. “I hear you well.”

_Tell me to ‘peace’ one more time and I’ll—_

“It’s my fault, really,” Peter announced, cutting into her murderous train of thought. “I wasn’t paying attention and the next thing I knew he was gone.”

“Please, he’s our brother,” Lucy added, her voice small.

Aslan nodded, looking grim. “This may be harder than you think.”

* * *

Anne and Peter stood on the cliff near the outskirts of camp, letting the wind tug playfully at their clothing. The sea lay before them, vast and glistening. The salt in the air was a sharp, almost sour scent, but not unpleasant. It brought back fond memories of the jellyfish stings and sandcastles of their childhood. Speaking of castles, Anne gestured at a silhouette just in front of the horizon.

“Look at that. Rather grand, isn’t it?”

“That is Cair Paravel,” came Aslan’s deep voice. “Castle of the thrones, on which you both will sit as king and queen.”

Anne heaved a loud sigh while Peter looked down uncertainly, fingers playing with the hem of his shirt.

“You doubt the prophecy.”

“It’s a _prophecy_ ,” Anne deadpanned. “Forgive us if we’re not exactly jumping for joy at these depictions you have of us. Sorry, make that ‘them’. It doesn’t apply to me. Still, I’m not thrilled at the idea of my family being dragged into your war. I didn’t come here to watch them become child soldiers.”

“Anne!” Peter hissed. “Don’t be so rude.”

Aslan’s expression remained inscrutable. “Why did you come here?”

“Here as in the camp or here as in Narnia?”

“Both, if you will.”

She let out a sardonic chuckle. “Mr Beaver convinced us that you were the only one who could help get our brother back. As for the other thing, when I figure that out I’ll be sure to let you know.”

“I don’t think we are who you say we are, Aslan,” said Peter, scrubbing a weary hand over his face.

“You are Peter Pevensie, formerly of Finchley,” Aslan listed. “Beaver also mentioned that you planned on turning him into a hat.”

Anne gave Peter a gentle poke. “He’s got you on that, brother dear.”

“Peter,” Aslan continued. “There is a deep magic more powerful than any of us that rules over Narnia. It defines right from wrong, and governs all our destinies, yours and mine.”

“But…” Peter shook his head. “I can barely keep my family together.”

“Oi,” said Anne, flicking him on the forehead, chuckling when he flinched. “That’s not your job. Your only job is to be our occasionally annoying, stick-in-the-mud older brother. You hug us when we’re sad, and patch us up if we fall down. There has never been a time when you failed to do that.”

“But Edmund—”

“But Edmund nothing,” she interrupted. “Edmund is dealing with things that are completely separate from you. And us. Don’t go trying to take credit for his choices and his life. You know how he hates that.”

Peter let out a gusty sigh. He looked down at her, then ruffled her hair, causing her to squawk and reach up to fix the mussed curls. “Somehow, when I wasn’t looking, you grew up, Anne.” He laughed after a moment. “Still think you and Edmund spend too much time plotting together, though. Don’t suppose you can tell me what’s going on in that mind of his?”

Anne raised her hands in surrender. “Secret clause.”

“Peter, if I may have a moment with your sister?” Aslan’s voice broke into their moment, and they turned, startled. Anne had honestly forgotten he was still there. She was _thisclose_ to making a rude comment, but Peter’s elbow to the ribs stopped her.

“Of course, Aslan,” he said before turning back to Anne. “I’ll see you later, yeah? And remember, be nice.”

Peter left, stranding her with Aslan, like the traitorous older brother he was. She inhaled deeply, straightening her shoulders before turning to face Aslan.

“ _Yes_ , Aslan, thank you so much for asking me whether I’d like a moment with you, _of_ _course_ I accept.”

Aslan’s gaze warmed with amusement. “Fire chose well, it seems.”

“And what do you know about that?” she asked.

“A great deal more than you, I suspect,” was his slightly acerbic reply.

Anne grinned, pleased by the fact that she could provoke him into dropping his all-knowing, all-seeing, wise old lion demeanour. “You’re not how I imagined you’d be, shapeshifter.”

Surprise flickered over Aslan’s face. “How can you tell?”

She raised a brow. “I haven’t even told Lucy about this bit, what makes you think I’ll tell you?”

“Because I am the one retrieving your wayward brother,” said Aslan. “And we are both aware that he is more than just a prisoner.”

Anne’s smile faded. “Blackmail, is it? Don’t be so boring.”

But Aslan shook his great head. “I am genuinely curious. But I will stop pressing the matter if you wish.”

She locked eyes with him, gauging his trustworthiness. Eventually, she decided she could maybe, possibly just blow him up if he betrayed her, so she told him.

“I can see it. You have an echo, of sorts. I’m not sure why or how it works, and it doesn’t work all the time, but I have a sneaking suspicion it might have something to do with the fact that I was supposed to be blind at birth. I think.”

“Rather fascinating,” said Aslan. “I am, of course, honoured that you chose to share this with me. You were right, dear one. This form feels just as comfortable as my other, though this is the only one I wear here.”

“Other _s_ ,” she corrected. “You can’t fool me. You have so many forms it makes me almost dizzy looking at you. Your echoes are practically vibrating around you.”

Aslan perked up at that. “Really? You can see every single one?”

“Of course not,” she said. “That would be murder on the eyes. I just…know.”

“That is truly fascinating,” said Aslan, golden eyes roving over her in an almost clinical way. He blinked, suddenly looking sheepish. “I am afraid I must apologise for the welcome ceremony. You see, the truth is…I do not know your name.”

“What?”

“The prophecy fails to mention you,” he explained. “This is not a coincidence. At the time of its foretelling, you were not meant to exist.”

Anne sat down heavily on a nearby stump. “Well, that’s comforting.” She looked up at him suddenly, remembering something. “Mr Beaver said there was another legend, something that had to do with me?”

Aslan nodded. “I know what they are referring to. That, however, is simple legend. A tale told around campfires and in children’s bedrooms. No, dear one, something else is afoot.”

“And are you taking it upon yourself to figure it out, or am I doing that alone?”

“I have not decided yet,” he admitted. “My mind has been occupied by many things.”

She rolled her eyes. “Well, that, at least is understandable.”

“What do you mean?” he said, looking slightly affronted.

“How can you not know my name?” she asked incredulously. “Does your magical scroll of destiny not update itself?”

“There is no ‘magical scroll of destiny’, dear one,” he chuckled. “I think perhaps the simplest remedy is for you to tell me your name.”

“What, and let it be that easy for you?” she said. “Father Christmas knew my name.”

“It is his duty to know the name of every child he makes gifts for,” said Aslan. “He is governed by a different set of laws than I.”

“Ah, so since I wasn’t written into your magical scroll of _duty_ , I’m meant to go nameless?”

Aslan’s chuckles were heartier now. “There is also no ‘magical scroll of duty’, dear one.” He leaned his head over to give her shoulder a short nudge. “Perhaps it is best to try again?” He paced in front of her, bowing his head. “Welcome, daughter of Eve. I am Aslan, ruler of Narnia. It is an honour to have you in my kingdom. Might I be blessed with your name?”

“Laying it on rather thick, aren’t you?” she snickered. “Very well, _Your Majesty_. My name is Anne Pevensie, at your service.”

“What a lovely name,” said Aslan, whiskers twitching. “After the legendary queen of England, perchance?”

Anne gaped at him. “It’s always going to be one step forward, three steps back with you, isn’t it? Anne Boleyn was _beheaded_ , you great housecat. As if I would be named after someone who died in such a tedious manner.”

“But surely it was a compliment to your spirit,” Aslan argued. “Did Anne Boleyn not stand out due to her vivaciousness?”

“Yes, for which she was _beheaded_ ,” Anne repeated. “Do keep up.”

“Of course,” Aslan conceded. “My apologies.”

“Your apologies are noted,” she sniffed, tossing her head haughtily.

“I believe it is time for you to go,” said Aslan, glancing back at the camp. “Your siblings must be missing you.”

“You’re probably right,” she sighed. “Lucy will have strangled Peter or Susan by now.”

“Lucy?” Aslan said, his tone full of doubt. “The youngest?”

“Don’t let her size fool you,” Anne warned. “She’s wicked fast and fierce as any lion can be.”

Aslan’s mane shook with his laughter, the silky golden strands catching the fading sunlight in a way that made him glow. “I shall be on my guard, then.” He dipped his head to her one more time. “It has been a pleasure meeting you, Anne Pevensie.”

“I suppose you’re not as bad as I thought you were,” said Anne, returning the bow. She set off to leave, then stopped and turned around. “I just had a wild thought. Forgive me if this oversteps, but may I pet you?”

Anne found great joy in the fact that she was the only one around to witness Aslan nearly sputter in surprise. “I beg your pardon?” he said.

“I don’t like repeating myself,” she replied with a wide grin. “You heard me. Yes or no, that’s all I need. If it’s a no, I won’t ask again.”

Aslan sighed, shaking his head. “I am afraid the answer must be no, dear one.”

“All right then.” Anne set off back to the camp, fingers twitching with the denied desire to sink her hands into that fluffy mane. Oh well, at least she had taken the chance and asked. Peter would be proud. She had been _nice_.

* * *

“There you are,” said Susan, spotting Anne as she came up the pathway. “Over here, this is our tent.” She tossed something dark and green at her. “Try this on.”

Anne caught it automatically, unfolding it to reveal a long green dress with flowing sleeves. She made a face. Not her style in the least. She would have to make some alterations. She slipped behind the dressing screen with one of her knives and a secret smile. Susan was going to have a cow when she was done with this dress.

She was finished much, much later, even with the help of her magic in some areas. She had found a seamstress’s mannequin and ‘borrowed’ it for her purposes. Now, the final results of her labour were much more to her liking. She emerged from the tent dressed in her new clothing, intent on finding her sisters to show it off. She ran into Lucy first.

“Annie,” she exclaimed. “Look at you! Very lethal.”

Susan was not far behind Lucy, and Anne revelled in the, “ _What_ have you done to that dress?”

“I just made it better,” said Anne smugly. “Don’t you think so?”

“It can’t even be called a proper dress anymore,” Susan mourned. “What was so wrong with it?”

“Everything except the colour,” Anne replied honestly. “Don’t worry, Su. This way I won’t trip every time I try to take a step.”

Anne had trimmed the hem for that purpose. Well, she had more than trimmed the hem. The dress was indeed no longer a dress; it was a tunic. Deep slits had been cut into the skirt, and with the hem shortened, it now fell to mid-thigh. The lace-up front was left as is. Anne appreciated the adjustability of those laces. The long sleeves had been tightened to cling to her arms and wrists—not too tightly, though. Underneath it all, Anne had again ‘borrowed’ a pair of riding breeches and altered them to fit her. They hugged her legs, giving her flexibility and comfort all in one. The breeches were tucked into a pair of riding boots she’d found lying around in the stables. She looked and felt rather good, if she had to say. The best part was, she’d found a way to carry all six daggers on her person and not feel burdened or lose range of motion. She’d found some discarded gauntlets and brought them to the crafter to mend. The talented faun working there was able to sew a holster into the inner forearm of each gauntlet. So, two of her blades went there. Another three were strapped to her belt, one on each hip and one at the small of her back. The last one was in a holster wrapped around her thigh.

“Lucy and I are headed to the stream for a wash,” said Susan, giving up on the dress issue.

“Have fun,” said Anne. “I’ve already had my bath. It turns out, fire is a wonderful cleansing agent.”

“You took a bath in fire?” After a moment, Susan shook her head. “You know what, I’m just not going to ask anymore. See you later.”

‘Later’ happened to be barely twenty minutes when the sound of Susan’s horn rang through the camp. Anne took off running the minute she heard it, arriving at the stream just moments after Peter. She took in the sight of Susan and Lucy in a tree, a wolf snapping at their heels, and Peter with his sword drawn, facing the large wolf from the river, Maugrim, if she assumed correctly. Aslan skidded to a halt beside her, also surveying the scene.

“Are you going to step in?” she asked him quietly.

“This is Peter’s battle,” said Aslan, shaking his head.

In front of them, Maugrim pounced, and Peter fell. Anne started forward, but Aslan’s tail whipped forward to hold her off. “He is unharmed, dear one.”

Sure enough, Peter sat up after shoving Maugrim’s heavy body to the side. Her brother blinked rapidly, dazed and disbelieving as he stared at the dead wolf next to him.

“After them,” Aslan ordered, nodding towards Maugrim’s fleeing subordinates. “They will lead you to Edmund.” The small group of Narnians that had accompanied him promptly obeyed, kicking up dust in their wake. “Peter, clean your sword.”

Peter, still speechless and in shock, did so mechanically. He looked up at Aslan, something like a plea in his eyes.

“Rise, Sir Peter Wolfsbane,” said Aslan softly. “Knight of Narnia.”

In that moment, Anne was sure she hated, absolutely _hated_ Aslan. He had actually done it. He had made Peter a soldier. Peter, her brother, who was just sixteen, who was still in school. His life had barely begun.

She left before Peter stood, unable to watch any longer.


	12. Chapter 12

“You are upset with me.”

Anne didn’t bother turning around to face Aslan. She kept her gaze focused on Cair Paravel, staring at the castle with such intensity that the edges blurred. It was early morning, and she had slept very poorly. She was certainly in no mood to talk, especially not to _him_.

“I understand why, dear one.”

She pressed her lips together in a thin line, refusing to engage. She’d probably say something she’d regret later.

A sigh. Then, “I often come here to watch the sunrise. There is a simple joy to be found in the way the land comes to life.”

Vexing as it was, Anne had to admit that he was right. The rising sun brushed the landscape with a buttery gold, and the dewdrops glistened like diamonds buried in the grass. The steady breeze had Anne shivering lightly; she hadn’t thought to take her cloak with her. Foolish, perhaps, but she’d hoped the cold would settle her mind, or at least numb it long enough for her to find some peace.

A wall of warmth appeared by her side all of a sudden, tempering the wind’s icy bite. Oh. Aslan stood as close as he dared, using his body to shield her. Well, that was aggravatingly considerate of him.

“Is it worth it?” she finally asked, still staring at the castle. “Is that worth it?”

She felt more than saw Aslan’s head turn towards her. “Worth what, dear one?”

“Our lives.” She finally looked at him. “The castle of thrones, you said. Is it worth it if, at the end of this, there’s no one left to sit on them?”

Sadness flooded Aslan’s golden eyes, and he seemed to age a century before her eyes. “Are you so sure of your fate?”

“What do you think is going to happen?” she cried, anger returning full force. “We’re _children_. We may have come from a country locked in war, but we have never seen the battlefield. We’re untrained, unused to how things work here. How can we possibly stand a chance against a woman who has managed to overpower even you for a century? How can you ask us to do this?” Aslan’s eyes closed in pain as he shook his head. “Peter won’t show it, but I know he’s terrified. He doesn’t want to let us down out of a twisted sense of duty to our family, but all I want is for him to stay alive. Don’t you see? There’s a cost to your war, and I don’t understand what gives you the right to ask us to pay it.”

Aslan sat down heavily, foregoing his usual grace. His sigh seemed to come from deep, deep within him. “There is so much I cannot tell you,” he said, voice taut and pained. “I swear to you I would not ask such things of you and your family were it not _essential_. Your family has—and you especially—a connection to this land. The prophecy did not select you at random. Forgive me, I cannot say more than that.”

She let the new information sink in, brow furrowing as she added it to the few details she already knew. Was the connection through Professor Kirke? The wardrobe was in his manor, and he was an old friend of her mother’s. And Professor Kirke, though he hadn’t told her much, had definitely encountered both Aslan and the White Witch. Two magical beings, one warm and one cold, he’d said. It had to be them.

“You said I wasn’t meant to exist,” she said. “What does that mean?”

“I misspoke,” said Aslan, wincing slightly. “Your birth was simply unexpected. There was no indication that there would be more than four of you. Until you entered Narnia, I was not aware of your existence. I should not have made a judgement on whether or not you were meant to be born.”

“Mum always said I was a surprise,” Anne muttered thoughtfully. “A happy accident. She was only expecting Edmund. She said she hadn’t felt anything different compared to when she’d been pregnant with Peter or Susan. She didn’t feel heavier, didn’t feel the movement of two babies. So imagine her shock when the doctor said there was another one coming just after Edmund was born.”

“She must have been thrilled,” Aslan chuckled.

Anne raised an eyebrow. “Or horrified. How would you feel if a doctor told you that you’d been unknowingly harbouring another human inside you for nine months?”

“When you put it like that…I would be quite astonished.”

“Do you think all of this is the reason I have these powers?” she asked, raising her hands to study them. Even though it was dormant, she could feel her magic buzzing beneath her skin, a swarm of bees waiting for their queen’s command.

Aslan’s broad shoulders shifted in his version of a shrug. “Perhaps.”

The bellowing of a horn cut into their quiet bubble, like it was announcing the end of their conversation.

“Ah,” said Aslan. “That will be your brother.”

“Edmund,” Anne breathed, head turning automatically to spot him even though she knew she was too far to see him. “Thank you.”

“Does this mean you are no longer upset with me?” Aslan asked lightly.

She glared, but it held very little heat. “Don’t push it.”

* * *

Anne’s knee bounced impatiently as she sat on a large rock near Aslan’s tent, waiting for Edmund to come out. They’d been in there for _hours_. What was Aslan saying to him? Was he scolding him? Interrogating?

“That’s it,” she muttered, standing so quickly her head spun. “I’m going in there. I don’t care if Aslan eats me.”

“Wait,” said Peter, wrapping an arm around her shoulders to stop her. “I’m sure they’re almost finished.”

“It’s been two hours!” Anne complained.

“It’s been twenty minutes.”

“Yes,” she huffed. “Hours.”

Suddenly, Peter stiffened. “Look, here he comes.”

And there he was, emerging from the grand tent, followed by Aslan. Both of their expressions were unreadable, which was vexing, but Anne was more focused on the dark bruising on Edmund’s face. As he got closer, the split lip became visible too. She bit back a growl, pushing down the anger that threatened to tint her vision red.

“Edmund!” called Lucy joyfully, running forward. Anne watched her go with a hint of envy. Lucy had always been the bravest of them.

Lucy threw her arms around Edmund’s waist when she reached him, squeezing a little too tight if the discomfort on Edmund’s face said anything. Anne met Aslan’s gaze questioningly, growing more worried when the lion merely shook his head.

She waited till Peter and Susan finished their greetings and fussing before she approached her twin. Edmund was looking uncharacteristically hesitant, and remembering how they’d left things, Anne wasn’t surprised. Nor was she ready to forgive. But—

“Secret clause?” Edmund asked softly.

“ _Fuck you_.” Anne grabbed his arm and pulled him into a fierce embrace. “I am so, so angry with you, but yes. Secret clause.”

Edmund clutched her back just as tightly, pressing their foreheads together. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

“I know.” She pulled back to look him in the eye, letting him see all the worry, the anger, the hurt she’d felt when he left them. Edmund’s eyes closed in shame as he lowered his head further, knowing he wasn’t yet forgiven.

The bruising and cuts on his face looked even worse up close. Anne stepped back further so she could survey his whole body. “How many injuries are hidden under your clothes?”

“A lot,” Edmund muttered, and Anne inhaled sharply.

“That’s torture,” she said, voice dark with hate. “I’m going to kill her.”

Rage burned in Edmund’s eyes when his head shot up to meet her gaze. “Not if I get there first.”

Anne reached out a hand and placed it over his heart. “I’m going to try something,” she said. “Trust me?”

He nodded. “Always.”

It was just like it was with Peter, and it wasn’t. Her magic leapt greedily to her fingertips, stretching out beyond them and into Edmund to _fix_. There was a hunger in the way her magic feasted on each wound, completely consuming it and leaving nothing but faint scars behind. When it was over, she barely felt any drain. Instead, she was buzzing with a destructive energy. She wanted to _fight_ something, hurt, kill. Anne wondered if that had anything to do with how the injuries were sustained. Was she feeling a runoff of the Witch’s malevolence?

“Excuse me,” she said to a newly healed Edmund. “I need to go throw some knives at something.”

* * *

“Want to bet?”

Anne arrived at the archery range just in time to hear Lucy’s challenge. Her sisters were already standing side by side in front of a target, weapons in hand.

“Five pounds,” said Susan.

“Done.”

Susan notched an arrow, drew, and released. It flew straight and true, burying itself in the bullseye just left of centre.

Lucy hummed noncommittally. “Not bad for a first try.”

“Like you could do any better,” Susan scoffed.

The words had barely left Susan’s mouth when Lucy’s dagger struck the target with a _hiss-thwack!_ Dead centre.

“That’ll be five pounds,” said Lucy, blinking innocently at Susan.

Anne laughed, stepping closer to give Lucy’s hair a ruffle. “Would either of you like to make things more interesting?” She summoned her knives from their various holsters, leaving them hovering in the air between them. “Best out of six?”

“I’ve only got one,” Lucy protested, gesturing at her dagger still stuck in the target.

“I’ll get it back for you each time,” said Anne, squinting in the dagger’s direction. It came hurtling back towards them, slowing before it got too close. “There.”

“Then you’re on,” said Lucy. “What are the terms?”

Susan cleared her throat. “Anne, if you lose to me, you’ll wear the frilliest dress I can find for an entire day. Without complaint.”

Anne’s jaw dropped. “I’d rather die.”

“Then don’t lose,” Susan shrugged.

“You still owe money,” said Lucy, looking at Susan. “I’ll just increase it to twenty pounds. As for you—” She jabbed Anne in the side. “—I’ll stick with my usual request. I still want a unicorn. A better one.”

“Why, you little—” Anne spluttered. Traitors! She would show them. “All right, then. Susan, you will wear an outfit of _my_ choosing if you lose, and Lucy will let me try levitating her again for a full three minutes.”

The three sisters stared each other down. “May the best girl win,” they chorused.

In the end, Lucy beat them both with a perfect score of six. Anne and Susan tied for second with five.

“Right,” Anne sighed. “I’ll start looking for your unicorn. Maybe Aslan knows where I can find one.”

Susan shot her a doubtful look. “Unicorns don’t really exist, do they?”

Anne returned her look with a raised eyebrow. “You met a talking lion and a centaur yesterday and you’re still not believing?”

“Touché.”

Anne stretched out a hand to call her knives back, along with Lucy’s dagger and Susan’s arrows. She handed them over, smiling slightly at the awe in her sisters’ faces. It was a welcome change.

“How do you avoid catching them by the blade?” asked Susan, jerking her chin at Anne’s knives.

“I’m not sure,” said Anne. “It just happens.” She wiggled her last knife in the air. “Want to see a new trick I learned?”

“Yes!” Lucy bounced on her toes anxiously. “Show us!”

Anne gripped the knife tightly. Her hand burst into flames, startling a gasp out of Susan. The flames slowly turned blue, matching the hilt of the knife. Then, with a slight sucking sound, the knife seemed to inhale the flames and began to glow. The air around the blade shivered with energy. With a quick flick of her wrist, she threw the knife across the field and into the target, paying no attention to aiming other than making sure it actually hit the target. The minute the blade touched the target, the entire thing burst into flame and exploded into a bright blue ball of heat.

“Shit,” Anne muttered, noting that the area surrounding the target was also alight, flames slowly turning orange as they cooled. She called the fire back to her palm before it could do any damage, closing her hand to extinguish it. The knife landed in her hand a moment later.

“That was amazing!” said Lucy, staring at the ashes of the target with a little too much glee. “Can you do it again? And in purple this time?”

“I—”

“Anne!” Rapid hoofbeats heralded the arrival of Peter and Edmund. Both boys were sat astride horses, swords drawn for sparring. “Are you all right?” shouted Peter. “We heard the blast.”

He and Edmund sheathed their swords and dismounted, heading over to them with worry on their faces.

Anne winced slightly, gesturing to the destroyed target. “Er, it’s okay. Just a little practise.”

Peter’s eyes widened as he surveyed the scorched patch of earth that used to be the archery target. “Wow. Just make sure you don’t ‘practise’ the entire camp to bits.”

“It _was_ you!”

Edmund’s voice was uncharacteristically loud and unrestrained, gaining everyone’s attention.

“What are you talking about?” said Anne.

“The plane,” said Edmund. “You blew up the plane.”

“Yes,” she admitted.

Her twin’s expression darkened with the shadow of old anger. “Why didn’t you tell me when I asked before? Why did you lie?” He stepped closer to her, but his demeanour remained unthreatening. “We promised not to. Not to each other.”

“I was scared,” said Anne, shame flickering through her chest. “It hurt, what I did to the plane. A lot. I’d never done anything else like that before. I didn’t know what had happened, so I thought if I just ignored it I could pretend things were normal.”

Edmund softened at that, giving her a small nod. “And you healed me,” he said, raising a hand to touch his cheek. “Peter too. He told me about it.”

The shame swelled, hardening into a stone that sat heavily in her stomach. She swallowed. “Then you know how badly I hurt him.”

“That’s not how he remembers it,” Edmund shook his head. “He said it was like waking up in a hot bath. Or a warm hug all over.”

“Don’t,” she said, voice taut. “You weren’t there. You didn’t hear the sound of—” She choked on her words, unable to finish. “There was blood. So much blood.”

Edmund nodded. He would back off the subject. “Who else knew?” he asked instead. “About your magic?”

Anne relaxed a bit. This she could answer easily. “Lucy walked into my room a while ago and saw me levitating books.”

“Lucy…” Conflict swirled in Edmund’s dark eyes as he said their sister’s names. “I haven’t been fair to her at all.”

“Yes,” Anne agreed. “But that’s something you should say to her, not me.” She tilted her head in the direction of their younger sister. “There’s no time like the present.”

Edmund took a deep breath. “Right.”

Anne watched him go over to Lucy and whisper something to her before both siblings headed off somewhere else to talk. She smiled at the sight. Perhaps things would be better now. She turned to head back to their tent, and caught sight of Peter’s horse. Yes, things would definitely be better now, because Peter’s horse was not a horse.

“Brother dear,” she called. “I’m going to steal your unicorn.”


	13. Chapter 13

Anne’s grand plans to have an afternoon kip were ruined when Mr Beaver burst into their tent, panting and stuttering.

“It’s the Witch,” he finally managed. “She’s here. She’s demanded to see Aslan.”

Anne exchanged a glance with Edmund, communicating silently with their secret language. It was something they’d developed as children, as a joke of sorts. It consisted of subtle hand signals, facial tics, and body language, and it came in handy mostly for getting out of trouble with Mum or Dad. Or times like these.

_Do you think it’s about—_

_Probably, yeah._

_Shit._

_Yeah. Shit._

_Over my dead body._

_Don’t do anything stupid._

They followed Mr Beaver back to Aslan’s tent and saw the great lion himself already outside and waiting. Anne stopped beside him and spoke in a low voice.

“I could throw a knife the moment she gets in range.”

Edmund, who was close enough to hear that, shot her an outraged look.

_That’s the definition of stupid._

Anne ignored him, waiting for Aslan’s reply. Even though she’d expected it, it was still a disappointment to hear him say, “Unfortunately, dear one, there is a treaty in place. Campgrounds remain off limits for battle.”

“Rules are meant to be broken,” she muttered. Aslan huffed quietly, and Anne was sure it was to cover a laugh.

“Your training went well, I assume,” he said. “It was very loud.”

“Sorry about that,” she replied, shrugging. “I honestly didn’t think it was going to be like that.”

“Your power comes at a cost, dear one,” said Aslan. “Caution is not always the coward’s choice.”

“Believe me, I’m aware,” said Anne, rubbing absently at her sternum. She narrowed her eyes at him. “Do you try to sound cryptic on purpose, or does that come with age?”

Aslan never got to reply to that. Because a great titter rose among the crowd gathered by the main path. The White Witch had been spotted. Four hideous cyclopes bore a gaudy chair down the path, and seated on it was Jadis, most successful usurper of Narnia. Her sharp features spoke of nothing but cold cruelty, her mouth a harsh red line across her face, almost like a wound.

The chair lowered, and the Witch stood. Aslan did not. Anne had to stifle a laugh despite herself. The sheer pettiness of that move was inspiring, really.

“You have a traitor in your midst, Aslan,” the Witch announced. Her voice sounded like ice breaking. Anne’s hand strayed to her back, to one of her knives. The Witch was right there. It would be so easy—

At the edge of her vision, Edmund’s hand twitched.

 _Wait_.

Anne reluctantly let her hand fall back to her side.

“His offence was not against you,” said Aslan.

“Have you forgotten the laws upon which Narnia was built?” the Witch nearly shrieked. “That traitor belongs to me. His blood is my property.”

“Do not cite the Deep Magic to _me_ , Witch,” Aslan snarled. “I was there when it was written.”

The Witch flinched, but recovered quickly. “Then you know that unless I have blood, all of Narnia will be overturned, and perish in fire and water.” She pointed a bony finger directly at Edmund. “That boy will die on the Stone Table, as is tradition. Do you refuse me?”

Anne stepped forward, blocking the Witch’s view of Edmund. Her palm rose, already crackling with fire, as she stared challengingly at the Witch. Peter moved to stand beside her, sword drawn.

“Take one step and you’ll be dead before your filthy foot leaves the ground,” said Anne. It was very odd. She supposed she ought to be having some sort of moral crisis about how ready she was to kill someone, but Anne had never felt steadier. It was a simple fact: the grass is green; the sky is blue…touch my brother and I’ll murder you.

“Enough!” said Aslan. His golden eyes narrowed as they focused back on the Witch. “I shall speak with you alone.”

* * *

It was a familiar situation Anne found herself in, waiting anxiously outside Aslan’s tent. She didn’t appreciate the trip down memory lane, especially since it hadn’t even been that long since the first time. Nonetheless, here they were again, waiting _hours_ for Aslan to finish discussing the fate of their brother. And this time, it was actual hours.

“She’s coming back out.”

Anne’s head snapped up at Peter’s quiet alert in time to see the Witch exit the tent, followed by Aslan. They watched in tense silence as the Witch made her way back to her chair. She hadn’t made any more moves toward Edmund, which meant either Aslan had made a bargain, or the Witch was truly frightened of what Anne and Peter could do. Anne was self-aware enough to know it was probably the first.

Aslan finally broke his silence. “She has renounced her claim on the son of Adam’s blood.”

His words were met with cheers from the gathered Narnians, who paid an appallingly minimal amount of attention to the Witch as she began to exit the camp. It still baffled her how attached Narnians were to concepts such as prophecies, honour, and treaties now, apparently. Then she wondered if it made her bad person how easily she was able to consider breaking one.

The crowd began to disperse, leaving Anne to focus on Aslan, who was still outside his tent. The lion did not look like himself at all. His head was bowed, his body seeming to shrink under an unseen weight. She squeezed Edmund’s shoulder gently before leaving him to their siblings’ tender mercies. Aslan heaved a sigh before turning away, catching her gaze in the process. He beckoned her over with a soft movement of his head.

“What were the terms?” she asked when she caught up with him. They began walking back towards the cliff.

“I cannot say,” Aslan replied, more than a little melancholy. “To do so would render the bargain useless.”

Anne dipped her head. “Right. What will happen to us now?”

“No one can predict the future,” said Aslan. “Would that not ruin the fun?”

Anne turned her head to stare at him incredulously. “I’m sorry, Mr I-love-my-prophecy-and-magical-scrolls-of-duty-and-destiny, what did you just say?”

The laughter that shook Aslan from head to tail had a vaguely hysterical quality to it. Anne wasn’t sure if she was amused or worried. “What will it take for you to believe that such things do not exist?”

“The ability to travel back in time to meet the creator of this prophecy.”

“Ah.” Aslan was the picture of sheepishness as he looked down at his paws. “That is not possible.”

“Then you’ll allow me my delusions,” said Anne, moving to bump shoulders with him. “I don’t know the laws of this land, but I find I can’t stand the idea of destiny or prophecy or whatever.”

Aslan’s whiskers twitched. “Yes, you have been quite vocal about that.”

“It’s a shackle,” she said angrily. “And we have no explanation for why it’s there, or what we did to deserve it. Where is our choice in this? Do we even have one?”

“Dear one,” Aslan sighed. “You are forgetting one part. The prophecy merely identifies a catalyst and predicts a result. Your arrival, and the end of the Witch’s reign. Nowhere does it say any of you must be the one to kill her, nor does it say you must participate in battle. _That_ is your choice.”

She nodded slowly. “That’s probably the first truly wise thing you’ve said to me. But we both know that choice has already been made. Peter won’t run away from a fight, and we would never let him go it alone.”

His silence was confirmation enough. They kept walking aimlessly, veering away from the cliff and towards the forest.

“So!” said Anne, injecting cheerfulness into her tone. “If you were suddenly allowed to go on holiday from all this, what would you want to do?”

Aslan stopped in his tracks, mulling it over. “I would like to teach you about your magic,” he said. “There is so much for you to learn.”

“Wrong answer,” she crowed. “As much as I would appreciate that, what do _you_ want to do?”

“Come on,” she cajoled when he visibly floundered. “There must be something your fuzzy little heart desires. Go on, let’s have it. I promise not to judge.”

“My what?” said Aslan incredulously.

“Yes,” Anne grinned. “You must have some guilty pleasures hidden in there. Unless His Majesty is above such things?”

“I may not be human, but I am certainly not without flaws,” said Aslan. He turned his head toward her, almost hesitantly. “You once made an offer I refused. Now I think I could do with a comforting touch.”

Instead of responding, Anne simply moved so she was facing him directly. She raised her hands, and at his brief nod, slid them into his mane.

Her breath caught the moment her fingers made contact because _oh_ , she could feel his magic, and it was bright and warm and it tasted like petrichor. Her forehead met his as she fell forward, helplessly drawn into his presence. She closed her eyes. Pure energy jumped from strand to strand of his silky fur, leaving her hands tingling with the aftersensation. After what seemed like an age, she removed her hands, making sure to stroke his muzzle as she did.

“Your magic tastes of sunshine,” murmured Aslan, his voice just as unsteady as she felt. “I have never felt anything like it.”

Anne staggered backwards a step, taking deep breaths to recover. “Water,” she rasped. “You’re fresh water after decades in the desert.”

“Fire and water,” mused Aslan. “How interesting.”

“I would have said ironic,” Anne snorted. “Didn’t the Witch say Narnia would end that way?

“She does not know half of what she claims to,” he scoffed, or as close to scoffing as he could get.

Anne grinned widely. “Oh, my. Is this jealousy I’m sensing? Is someone afraid of the new Witch in town stealing his thunder?”

“That implies that I too am a Witch,” said Aslan.

She simply quirked a brow in challenge. “Aren’t you?”

“Certainly not.” He gave a disgruntled shake of his mane. “We could not be more different.”

“Methinks he doth protest too much,” she laughed, daring to reach out and tug playfully at his ear.

Aslan’s gaze shot to her in surprise, softening when she smiled winningly at him. A moment later, she sputtered, flinching when his tail came up to flick her on the nose.

“Oh you—”

He burst into motion when she lunged for him, the tips of her fingers just barely brushing his fur as he darted away. She hardly recognised the loud giggle as hers when it left her mouth. Anne chased Aslan through the forest, ducking under branches and clambering over tree trunks. She hadn’t had this much fun in ages. The lion himself was in full form, dodging and weaving to evade her attempts to catch him. His laughter rumbled in his chest like distant thunder, his palpable happiness irresistible. Anne finally got the upper hand when she zigged when he zagged, and she threw herself at him, tackling him to the ground.

Aslan went down with a solid thump, tumbling paws over tail with Anne tangled up between. Breathless with mirth and exertion, she sat up to favour him with a superior smirk.

“Got you.”

Anne expected Aslan to reply with a quip of his own, or retaliate in some otherworldly, lion-y way. What she certainly did not expect was for the King of Narnia to slump further into her, lay his head in her lap, and proceed to _snuggle_ into her stomach.

“Oh,” she gasped quietly. “Hello.”

Aslan’s eyes twinkled as he looked up at her with a slightly pleading—Anne was tempted to call it a pout, if lions were even capable of such a thing. And that was it. There was nothing else to do but sink her fingers back into the luxuriously soft fur of his mane and coax growling hums of contentment from him.

“You really are just a giant housecat, aren’t you?” she said, tenderly rubbing his ear. Aslan simply sighed and turned to nuzzle her hand in return.

Anne bent down slightly to press her forehead against his reassuringly. “Whatever has you so twisted up in knots…it’s going to be okay.”

Aslan tensed, meeting her gaze with heavy knowledge in the depths of his golden eyes. “Can you truly promise that?”

“Well, a sometimes-wise old lion once told me that no one can predict the future,” said Anne, pulling back to look at him squarely. “And since it’s been established by two magical scrolls that I am indeed no one, yes, I can promise that.”

Her paltry attempt at humour did not go unrewarded. The darkness in Aslan’s expression receded, and the tension between his brows disappeared. He let out another growling purr before pushing himself up into a sitting position.

Anne’s brows rose. “Are you about to have a mentor moment?”

Amusement glinted in Aslan’s eyes as he shook his head. “Another time, perhaps.” His demeanour flattened suddenly, tension falling over his shoulders like a blanket. “You both should be sleeping.”

“What?”

Susan and Lucy popped out from behind a set of bushes, and Anne understood. She gave them a small wave. “Did we wake you?”

“We were already on our way here,” said Lucy, shaking her head.

“May we walk with you for a while?” asked Susan.

Anne looked at Aslan, who heaved a sigh and nodded. “I fear we have little time left, but your company is always welcome.”

With that, he turned and led the way deeper into the forest. Anne sidled up to her sisters and, after embracing them briefly, leaned in to whisper, “Walk next to him and lay your hand in his mane. Trust me, he needs it.”

It was a testament to how far they’d come when Susan followed her direction without a question. She and Lucy flanked Aslan as they wandered on, a hand anchoring him to their steady presence. The tension slid from the lion’s shoulders, and Anne smiled triumphantly.

She was content to stay behind the other three, conjuring up a small flame in one hand. She played with it as she walked, changing its colour, size, intensity. She even tickled it with her other hand, watching with glee as the flames shuddered and twitched and shied away from her hand in response. They were so _alive_.

She didn’t realise they’d stopped walking until she noticed that she had stopped too, probably during her flame tickling experiment. She looked up to find Aslan, Susan, and Lucy staring at her expectantly.

“Er…” She extinguished the flame quickly. “What was the question?”

Aslan let out a short huff of amusement. “This is where I leave you, dear ones. I trust you will find your way back safely.”

“Um,” said Anne intelligently. “No.”

“She’s right,” said Lucy. “We’re not leaving you.”

“What’s going on, Aslan?” asked Susan. “You can tell us, can’t you?”

“I cannot.” Aslan’s frame sagged under an invisible weight. “You must promise me you will go back. The woods will become unsafe the moment I leave.”

“Then let us go with—”

“Fine.” Anne’s voice cut across Susan’s sharply. “We’ll go.”

Susan gaped at her, eyes beginning to darken with betrayal. Anne stepped past her towards Aslan, and it was then that Susan saw the hand behind Anne’s back gesticulating quickly. _Obviously we’re not going to just leave._

“All right, Anne,” said Susan. “It’s far past Lucy’s bedtime anyway.”

“Oh, bugger my bedtime!”

Susan gasped. “Lucy! Where on earth did you learn that sort of language?”

Anne simply turned her head enough so Aslan wouldn’t see when she gave her sister a sly wink. The anger on Lucy’s face cleared with understanding as she ducked her head under Susan’s reprimand.

“Sorry, Su,” she muttered.

“Right,” said Susan. “Let’s go.”

Anne stopped just in front of Aslan, taking a moment to just look at him. She flicked his forehead gently. “You’re planning on doing something fantastically stupid, aren’t you?”

He only shook his head in reply. “You know I cannot—”

“Tell me. Yes, I know.” Anne lifted a hand, gently sifting through the fur by Aslan’s ear. “You’re by far the most frustrating person I’ve ever met.”

Aslan’s chuckle was a sad little thing, like a downed baby bird. “Sleep well, dear one,” he said. Then he bent his head and pressed his muzzle firmly to the side of her jaw, sliding to nuzzle into her hair.

Anne sputtered indignantly, but before she could say anything, Aslan turned and disappeared into the darkness of the deeper forest.

“Did you just see that?” she asked, turning to Susan and Lucy.

“It was adorable,” said Susan.

Lucy nodded, grinning brightly. “He’s very fond of you.”

“That bastard _scent-marked_ me,” growled Anne. “Like a possessive kitten.”

Susan rolled her eyes. “I’m sure it was awful. Come on, let’s go before we lose his trail.”

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that,” said Anne. “I magic-marked him. I can find that fussy little housecat anywhere.”

Lucy jabbed her in the side. “Who’s the possessive one?”

“Uncalled for,” Anne hissed, rubbing at her ribs. “And it’s _useful_. For times like now.”

She stomped off into the trees.

“Anne,” said Susan. “He went the other way.”

“No, he tried to give us the slip,” she replied. “He circled around us and went this way.”

They didn’t have to go far. Just past a particularly tight cluster of trees was a large hill overlooking a clearing dotted with stones. In the centre stood a massive slab of rectangular stone etched with symbols Anne didn’t recognise. And the White Witch.

“Hide!” Susan whispered frantically.

They ducked down behind a bush, peeking through the branches at the scene below.

It was nightmarish. Dark, twisted creatures from every folktale and myth were gathered in the clearing, yet to Anne, the Witch was the foulest of them all.

This was the price of Edmund’s freedom, she realised. One life for another. Anne’s heart sank like a stone to the pit of her stomach. She held her breath as Aslan padded up the path towards the Witch, his head tilted in a show of confidence. And it was just that. A show. She could see the fear hidden behind that façade, and she was struck all over again by how much she’d underestimated him. For all her talk about her family having no obligations to Narnia, it was the same for Aslan. He barely even knew Edmund, let alone the rest of them, and here he was ready to make the ultimate sacrifice so she wouldn’t have to leave without her twin. Anne wanted to turn away, cover her sisters’ eyes and shield them from what she knew was going to happen, but she did not. They owed it to Aslan to watch this, to make sure his actions, which were meant to be carried out in secret, were never forgotten.

It happened fast. Too fast. The Witch and her followers bound Aslan in rope, sheared off his golden mane, and then—

The knife swung down and—

“The Great Cat is dead!”

The clearing erupted into victorious screeches and howls.

Anne, Susan, and Lucy huddled closer to each other, doing nothing to fight back the tears that streamed down their faces.


	14. Chapter 14

Anne woke up feeling like she’d been sleeping against a rock. A cursory glance at her surroundings told her that she had indeed fallen asleep on the stone table where Aslan had died. He was still there, looking even smaller in the faint glow of daylight. His fur was cold to the touch.

“He must have known what he was doing,” she heard Susan say behind her. Apparently her sisters had fallen asleep here too.

Anne remained silent as she stood to stretch out her cramped limbs. Every joint shrieked in protest when she twisted this way and that, trying to get the blood flowing again. Her left foot, which had gone numb, broke out into pins and needles.

An incessant squeaking caught her attention, bringing her gaze back to Aslan’s body. There were mice crawling over him. She nearly laughed. There was immense irony in the fact that, in death, the Great Lion was afforded no respect even from a tiny mouse. Life went on.

“Get away, all of you!” exclaimed Susan, waving her hands at the mice.

“Just let them do their job,” sighed Anne.

“Which is what?”

“You’re a woman of science,” said Anne. “You know what happens to our bodies after we die.”

“What, you think they’re going to eat him?” Lucy gasped. “No, you’ve got it wrong! Look.”

Anne looked. Oh, yes. Lucy was right once again. The mice, while certainly eating _something_ , were chewing on the ropes that still bound Aslan’s body instead of the body itself. A small relief.

After a few more minutes the ropes were gone. Anne helped Lucy ease off the muzzle that had been forced upon Aslan, and she saw where the bindings had drawn blood. Suddenly she was angry. She was angry with herself for doing nothing to help him, angry at the anger she felt for making the right choice to protect Edmund, angry with Aslan for not fighting back, at Susan for her self-righteousness, at the professor for being so cryptic and urging them towards Narnia in the first place, at Father Christmas too, at the Witch—at herself—the Witch—herself. Her breathing accelerated as she backed away from the table. This wasn’t just golden sparks at her fingertips anymore. This felt like fire, like an inferno. She was going to explode.

She punched the stone. Her hand broke with a crunch.

“ _FUCK!_ ” She let out another wordless scream. It was long and drawn out, and so cathartic. She flung a formless burst of magic straight at Aslan’s cold body. Then again. And again. “Wake up, you bastard! You don’t get to drop a destiny on us and take the easy way out. Fuck you, Aslan! _WAKE UP!_ ”

Anne collapsed against the side of the table, sliding to the ground in an ungraceful heap. She was exhausted and sore and her hand hurt like a bitch. She closed her eyes against the frustrated tears that begged to fall, but they broke past her lashes, rolling down her face to drop to the ground.

“My god,” she heard Susan cry. “Anne, what did you do? He’s gone!”

Anne stood up, not caring that she was still crying messily. “Of course he is. He’s dead.”

“No, he’s disappeared,” said Lucy. “He vanished after the last flash of your magic faded. And you broke the table.”

Anne sniffled and wiped her face quickly with her non-injured hand. “I didn’t hit it that hard, did I?”

Lucy stepped away slightly. “Look for yourself.”

She turned back to the stone table. The only sign that Aslan had even been there was the rope still lying on top of the table. The table itself was severely damaged. There was a deep crack across the centre, and it had caved in on itself around that crack. That was definitely not where she’d punched the thing, so that was clearly not how it broke. But Aslan’s body…

“Did I vaporise him?” she whispered.

The sun rose ever steadily, and as it blinded her through the stone arch behind the table, a figure appeared. Anne squinted into the light, eyes straining to see who it was.

“Oh,” she choked.

It was Aslan in all his glory, mane full and luxurious once again.

Anne did nothing, merely watching as Susan and Lucy sprinted forward to throw their arms around him. He chuckled heartily, leaning into their embrace.

She was suddenly aware that she looked like she’d gone and lost a fight with a bramble bush and a tidal wave. Her clothing was mussed, her hair was tangled beyond belief, and there was enough dried salt on her face from her tears to satisfy even Edmund’s awful cravings for the seasoning. She didn’t bother attempting to clean up. She cradled her broken hand to her chest, healing it with a quick burst of focus.

“Anne,” she heard Aslan say. “My child.”

Her eyes narrowed. “No. I already have a father, and he’s not you.” She was aware she sounded a great deal like Edmund right then, but she was far past caring. “Congratulations. You’re alive again. Were you even dead in the first place?”

Aslan frowned at her tone.

“So?” pressed Anne, waving a trembling hand impatiently. She was aware of how unhinged she looked. “Are you going to share the great secret of your survival? Because the whole production with the knife and the Witch looked so real.”

Still slightly concerned, Aslan began to explain. “If the Witch knew the true meaning of sacrifice, she might have interpreted the Deep Magic differently. That when a willing victim who has committed no treachery is killed in a traitor’s stead, the Stone Table will crack, and even death itself will turn backwards.”

“I see,” she nodded jerkily. “And this was so very hard to tell us _before_ we watched your so-called murder? Or maybe you knew all along that we were there. You knew we were going to follow you and decided that you could turn this into a little character building exercise. Your death would traumatise us for a bit, then we’d get it together and resolve to finish your stupid war, only for you to return just in time to be oh so proud of us for staying strong and being good people! Is that how it went in your mind? I can’t imagine any other reason why you wouldn’t tell us ‘oh, just so you know, I won’t actually be dead for long. Some ancient magic will bring me back because I’ve never done anything wrong in my life’. Well, you know what? Fuck you and fuck your secrets!”

“Dear one,” started Aslan as he walked towards her.

“Don’t!” Anne cried, her voice wavering. “Don’t come any closer. And stop calling me that, I’ve barely known you a day.” She looked down at her hands, which were shaking violently. “I think there’s something wrong with me. I’m angry and itchy and thirsty and hot and cold at the same time.” She backed away from them steadily. “I have to go. Good luck with your war and everything—I have to go.”

She turned and ran. Or, at least that’s what she had planned to do. Something peculiar happened instead. As she turned, her foot caught on a rock—of course it did—and she began to fall. She never hit the ground. At least not _that_ ground.

* * *

“Oof!”

The air left her lungs in a rush as Anne broke her fall in the grass. Grass? She’d been standing on rock just a moment ago. Where was she? How had she gotten here?

She stood up carefully and looked around. She had been here before with the Beavers. Small, stony animals littered the clearing like decorations, yet the terror in their frozen expressions betrayed their nature. There was a petrified fox in the middle of the clearing, fur spiked and teeth bared. It was a rather familiar fox. She moved closer, kneeling to get a better look. Yes, this was the fox who’d helped them escape the wolves. And this was his reward for his courage.

She squared her jaw. She could help. Maybe. She could try to help. Maybe it was the same as it was with Peter. If she could fix him, she could fix Mr Fox.

Anne gently placed her hand on the fox’s forehead. She closed her eyes. _Life_ , she pleaded. _Give him life. Undo what the Witch did_.

Movement under her hand had her eyes snapping open. She looked down and—it worked! Sort of. Mr Fox was certainly moving, looking mightily confused as he did. The only thing was, well, he was still made of stone.

“Shit,” she said. “That was supposed to work better than it did.”

The fox’s head perked up at the sound of her voice, and he trotted closer to her to give her a friendly nuzzle.

She grimaced. “You probably can’t speak like this, can you?”

Mr Fox shook his head and shrugged. Anne relaxed a bit. At least he wasn’t too upset about being a moving statue.

“Do you think I should try with the rest of your friends?” she asked. “Or would they rather—”

The fox nudged her eagerly, waving his tail in the direction of the other stone animals.

“All right, I get it!” She shuffled over, ignoring the lingering soreness in her back and neck from her ill-planned night spent on a bed of stone. “You can be the one to calm your friends down if they panic.”

One by one, Anne reanimated Mr Fox’s companions, and they only had to deal with one meltdown from the squirrel.

“Right,” she said. “So. I didn’t do a great job on the whole ‘bringing you all back to life bit’ so I think we should all head back to Aslan’s camp so he can finish fixing it. How does that sound?”

It was the oddest thing, watching them bob their heads or bounce in place or wag a tail all in complete silence.

“Great!” She scrubbed a hand over her face sheepishly. “You all weren’t really…awake for my arrival, but I didn’t exactly walk here.”

Mr Fox’s whiskers twitched in confusion.

“Yeah, it didn’t make sense to me either,” said Anne. “I’m going to try something, all right? Gather ‘round, everyone. Make sure you’re touching a part of Mr Fox here.”

Baffled as they were, it was admirable how willing they were to follow her directions. She laid a hand on the fox’s head and closed her eyes, concentrating on the invisible string that still linked her to Aslan.

“Fair warning, this might feel strange.”

* * *

They appeared in a large courtyard of a castle. Anne would have paid more attention, but she was too busy dry heaving her insides out to care. Her companions were in much the same state, and the poor squirrel had fainted entirely.

She slumped over fully, pressing her cheek to the cold ground in an effort to stave off the nausea and raging headache. “I’m never, ever doing that again,” she groaned.

A large shadow fell over her. Anne was fully aware of who it was, and she was too tired to drum up the energy to be angry anymore.

“Hello,” she rasped. “Come to see me die?”

A soft brush of fur, and then, “You are not dying, dear one.”

Anne sat up and, not caring if she got his pelt all dusty, half fell into Aslan in a clumsy embrace.

“’m sorry for shouting,” she mumbled. “’m sorry for being mean. You tried to warn us. ’m sorry for not listening.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” said Aslan.

“I was going to miss you,” she confessed. “Even though you’re stupid. And confusing.”

That got a hearty chuckle from the lion as he ducked his head to nudge her arm over his neck, helping her stand.

“Would you like to tell me what happened to your companions?” he asked, gaze falling on Mr Fox and the others.

She sighed, hiding her face in his soft, soft mane. “Tried to fix it. ’m not good at magic.”

“You are young, dear one,” said Aslan. “There is time yet to learn.”

“Can you fix them?” she asked, squinting up at him blearily. “I think I only got halfway.”

He nodded. “I believe your sisters would like to see you. You may also find an old friend waiting for you.”

“You don’t mean…” Hope bolstered her as she stood straighter. “Mr Tumnus?”

Warm golden eyes shone with happiness at her reaction. “Go. They are just beyond that bend.”

Anne was off like a shot, all weariness and lingering nausea forgotten. She turned the corner, and there, standing with Susan and Lucy, his ever-present red scarf swaying gently in the breeze, was Mr Tumnus. An unintelligible shriek of joy left her mouth as Anne sprinted towards the faun.

“Mr Tumnus! Mr Tumnus!”

The faun turned, surprise frozen on his face. “Anne Pevensie?”

“You’re okay,” she breathed when she reached him.

Mr Tumnus laughed, looking down at his bruised torso. “Ah, well, that will take some time.”

“Oh!” Anne extended a hand, hovering over the worst of the bruises. “May I?”

At his nod, she pressed her palm against the discolouration, mindful of the pressure. Mr Tumnus gasped at the initial pain before relaxing fully.

“That feels so much better,” said Mr Tumnus, breathing deeply. “Thank you, Anne Pevensie.”

“It was the least I could—shit!”

Lucy slammed into her side with the force of a tank, arms wrapping around her in a vise-like grip. “Annie, where did you go? You just disappeared! How did you do that? Susan and Aslan were fretting back and forth like Mum and Dad do for the longest time! You still look terrible, by the way, are you all right?”

Anne returned her sister’s embrace just as fiercely, feeling the adrenaline drain out of her. “Who was Mum and who was Dad?”

“That’s a stupid question,” said Lucy. “Obviously Aslan was Mum.”

Anne burst out laughing. She couldn’t help it. It had been the most insane night of her life, and it was all she could do to keep from going insane herself.

She was still laughing when Susan pried her out of Lucy’s hold and into her own embrace. Anne began to calm down, leaning into her older sister as Susan stroked her hair and made shushing noises. It made Anne feel like a five-year-old again, which was quite nice. Everything was much easier back then.

“There we go,” said Susan, pulling back to look at Anne. “All better.”

“Thanks,” Anne whispered.

Susan shook her head dismissively. “Rubbish. Family never says thank you.” Her lovely features scrunched with displeasure. “Goodness, you’re still filthy. Lucy and I were able to do a quick wash up at the fountain while Aslan was running around blowing hot air at everyone.”

It was only after Susan mentioned it that Anne noticed they were not alone. In fact, in addition to Mr Tumnus, the courtyard was teeming with all kinds of revived Narnians. From leopards to eagles to a single towering giant, they were all there, standing in small groups or on their own. And they had probably all witnessed her small breakdown. Wonderful.

“No need for the fountain,” said Anne. “I can just do this.”

She stepped away from her sisters and brought fire to life in her palms. She let it spread over her body, burning away all the grime and sweat and who knows what else. It wasn’t as satisfying as a proper wash, but it would do for now.

When the flames were extinguished, Lucy trotted up and poked her arm. Her face fell with disappointment. “You’re not warm. I thought you’d be warm.”

Anne shrugged. “Sorry, bug.”


	15. Chapter 15

A fearsome roar shook the courtyard, cutting Anne off mid-sentence.

“Aslan really loves his dramatics,” she muttered, shaking her head to disperse the ringing in her ears.

“I imagine it’s hard work being majestic,” said Susan dryly, much to Anne’s delight. She proceeded to feign a swoon. “There are certain struggles we will never understand.”

Anne cackled madly, bouncing in place. “I knew you hadn’t lost your sense of humour. I’m so proud to be your sister.”

“As you should be,” Susan sniffed, tossing her head.

“Shouldn’t we go see what all the fuss is about?” said Lucy.

“Oh no,” Anne gasped. “That was so _sensible_. Have you and Su switched bodies?”

Lucy grumbled something not-so-nice under her breath.

Anne smiled. “Apparently not.”

“I believe it’s time for battle,” said Mr Tumnus, coming up on Anne’s left.

They all sobered at that, and quickened their pace. Aslan was standing at the exit when they found him, the large crowd of Narnians waiting for his command. He beckoned them over with a flick of his tail.

Mr Tumnus paused at the edge of the crowd. “This is where I stay,” he said. “I will see you all on the other side of the war.”

“You better,” said Anne. “Lucy will be very upset if you break that promise.”

“Annie will be too,” Lucy added. “Even if she won’t say it.”

Mr Tumnus smiled, but it was small and tense. “Go on. We’re all waiting for our queens.”

When they reached Aslan, he crouched low, a move Susan and Lucy seemed familiar with. They climbed onto his back without hesitation.

“It won’t be too heavy?” Anne asked. “Not to be insensitive, but you just died and came back to life. That would take a toll on anyone.”

“I will be fine, dear one,” said Aslan firmly. “You will not hurt me.”

Anne caved and nodded. She settled herself behind Lucy, trying not to fidget too much. All at once, Aslan was running—no, _sprinting_. The speed at which his paws ate up the ground was unnatural. Trees and mountains whizzed by at a breakneck pace, yet through it all, there was never a time Anne felt in danger of falling off.

They arrived as speedily as they left, skidding to a halt atop the cliff overlooking the battlefield. Anne felt the rumble beneath her legs, and she barely had time to warn her sisters, “Cover your ears, he’s going to—”

The sky itself seemed to split apart when Aslan roared. For a moment, just a moment, the battlefield froze. In unison, they turned to look up at Aslan. It was quiet enough for the Witch’s voice to be heard.

“Impossible!”

Anne drew a knife and flung it with all her might at the Witch, the blade glowing white-hot with her power. The resulting explosion was deadly and beautiful to behold. It cut a clean hole in the Witch’s army, leaving nothing behind but scorched earth. The Witch herself managed to escape harm, cocooning herself in a thick prism of ice.

“I need to find Edmund.” Anne slid off Aslan’s back, calling her knife back to her hand as she did. “Stay safe, you two, and don’t miss.”

She didn’t wait to hear Susan and Lucy’s reply, already scrambling down the cliff to get to her twin. Those unfortunate enough to get in her way were viciously cut down or set aflame. When she found him, Edmund was going toe to toe with a minotaur thrice his size. And winning. His sword flashed like quicksilver, all youthful agility in the face of the minotaur’s clumsy brute force. A wide grin split Anne’s face as she threw a glowing knife into the minotaur’s back, instantly setting it alight.

Edmund’s eyes widened with shock, then narrowed. “I had it handled.”

“I know,” said Anne. “I just like the colour.”

Sure enough, what was left of the minotaur was being eaten away by bright purple flames.

“Can’t you do anything about the smell?” said Edmund, face scrunching in disgust.

She shrugged. “It just wouldn’t be authentic without it.”

“Priorities,” Edmund muttered, rolling his eyes.

They moved without thought to stand back to back, drawing on the strength of their bond to fight in sync. When Anne jumped, Edmund ducked. Edmund struck left, Anne struck right. They were a deadly duo, with Edmund taking care of most of the hand-to-hand and sword combat while Anne kept the Witch’s army at bay with well-aimed knives.

“We need to find the bitch and end this,” said Anne. She could feel herself starting to tire.

“Agreed. Cut us a path through this mess.”

Edmund jerked to the side, narrowly dodging a fatal blow. He snarled out a curse, retaliating with a final slice to his attacker’s neck. The severed head bounced once before rolling to a stop at Anne’s feet.

She raised an eyebrow at her twin. “Really?”

“Consider us even,” he said.

Anne raised both hands and drew a steadying breath. “Get ready to run,” she warned.

Blood orange fire burst into life with a roar, carving two parallel lines in the grass. The flames stretched high, greedy fingers grasping towards the sky. An unfortunate goblin stumbled into one of the barriers and was promptly reduced to ash. Edmund’s jaw dropped.

“Shit.”

“Hurry,” called Anne. “I can’t hold this for much longer.”

Edmund wasted no time in sprinting down the path opened up by the flames, Anne hot on his heels. Sweat dripped down her face as she began to pant, feeling the weight of exertion come down sharply on her shoulders.

“There she is!” Edmund drew his sword, planted his foot on a rocky ledge, and jumped.

The Witch turned just in time for Edmund’s sword to come down upon her wand. It shattered, releasing a shockwave that Anne felt right down to her bones. She grit her teeth against the foreign magic, pushing against it with her own. The struggle locked her limbs in place, froze her so all she could do was watch in silent horror as the Witch plunged her sword into Edmund’s stomach.

Edmund fell. He made no sound as he lay there on the ground, staring up at the sky. Blood poured from his abdomen, soaking his tunic and the ground beneath him. His hands grasped uselessly at blades of grass.

“ _EDMUND!_ ”

Red-tinged fury gave Anne the strength to break the Witch’s hold on her, and before she knew it, her feet were moving. Knives in hand, she slashed and stabbed with abandon, driving the Witch back, back, back to where Peter stood waiting with his sword aloft. Her oldest brother’s face was twisted into an animalistic snarl, nothing but hatred burning in his normally kind eyes.

_Oh, Aslan, what have we done?_

This was what she had feared. Edmund was fourteen and bleeding out on the ground. Peter was sixteen and doing his damned best to avenge him. They were children. But not anymore.

Peter grappled with the Witch, gaining ground then losing it. His sword was stained red with blood, crimson and silver flashing as he pushed forward with a lighting quick series of blows. He and Anne fought without grace, without much skill at all, but with a single-minded focus that made up for the lack of both.

The Witch stumbled, and Peter struck. His blade drove deep into her shoulder, causing her to shriek in pain and drop her sword. Then Anne was tackling her to the ground, hands closing around her neck and _squeezing_.

“ _Burn,_ ” she hissed.

The effect was immediate. Flesh sizzled and bubbled, starting from where Anne’s hands were on the Witch’s neck before spreading out and down. Golden fire sprang to life, eating away at the Witch’s body with an insatiable hunger borne from vengeance. If Edmund had complained about the smell of the minotaur, that had nothing on this. This was much, much worse, but Anne held on until the Witch was nothing more than ash falling through her fingers. The flames burned hotter and hotter, licking away with cleansing tongues the blood, sweat, and dirt covering Anne’s body. When the fire died, sated, there was silence.

“That was for Edmund,” whispered Anne. “Rot in hell.”

* * *

A great cry of victory rose up from the throats of Aslan’s army, and the rest of the battle was laughably quick. With the Witch gone, her army fled so quickly it was like they simply dissipated. Only her most loyal remained, but they were cut down quickly.

“Anne.”

That was Edmund’s voice. Edmund, who was standing and breathing and _healed_ and saying something about how annoyed he was that she hadn’t waited for him before killing the Witch and how dare she—

“Shut up,” she snapped, striding over on shaky legs to pull her stupid, _stupid_ twin brother into an embrace that nearly turned into a chokehold.

“Fuck you,” she growled, face buried in Edmund’s shoulder. “I hate you so much.”

Edmund’s voice was weak with relief when he replied. “Secret clause?”

Anne pulled back, shaking her head. “Sorry, you’ve used up your quota for the next five years.”

“Yeah, I have, haven’t I?” he said, mouth quirking ruefully. “I’m sorry, Anne.”

She knew he was apologising for so much more when he said that, but she had no energy left to speak so she simply nodded and pressed their foreheads together firmly.


	16. Chapter 16

The battle was over. The war was won. Ding dong, the Witch was dead. Anne was adrift, grasping for purpose now that there was nothing to kill. There was an itch under her skin that no amount of cleanup or menial magical tasks could scratch. It was a rather alarming realisation; she had never considered herself a very violent person. Perhaps it was that now that she had tasted the heady triumph of conquering, she wanted to chase that feeling.

Now, as she sat next to Aslan on their cliff, Anne came to terms with the fact that she had absolutely nothing to say to him. Except—

“Where were you when I was busy having a bonfire on the battlefield?”

If Aslan was disturbed by her cavalier attitude, he didn’t show it. He simply dropped his head to nuzzle gently at her shoulder, warmth blooming from that spot to spread to the rest of her body.

“I never meant for you to kill her,” he said softly.

“Was I meant to let her live?” she replied, matching his tone.

“ _I_ was going to kill her.”

Anne stopped breathing. She turned her head to look at him. His golden eyes were cast down, dark with sadness and regret, head bowed in shame. She reached forward to give his chin a gentle tap. When his eyes met hers, she spoke.

“ _Thank you._ ”

“I do not—”

“Quiet,” she ordered, bumping her forehead against his to soften the harshness of the command. “Let me finish. When I first met you, I hated you. I thought you were an arrogant old man who was too lazy to do his own dirty work, so he foisted it off onto the first available people and made up a prophecy to justify it. I was wrong. You turned out to be an arrogant old _lion_ who, after I looked past my own misgivings, is one of the best people I’ve ever known. I know now how much you love your people, and I know now that you have the rare ability to love a stranger. What you did for Edmund was…I have no words for how _grateful_ I am. This entire time, I thought I was being robbed of my choices. But being here, as it turns out, I’ve never felt more free. You’ve given me a place where I don’t have to hide who I am or what I can do from the people I love. So, thank you.”

Aslan let out a quiet, shaky sigh. “You are too kind, dear one.”

Anne rolled her eyes and promptly shoved his muzzle to the side. “Don’t call me that. It’s so…generic. You say that to everyone, and it’s weird.” She scooted closer so that she could lean on him, soaking in the the heat he seemed to radiate. “I deserve something ominous and majestic.”

“Is that so?” he laughed. “I shall need to think on it very carefully, then.”

“See that you do,” she hummed, absentmindedly playing with his ear.

They sat in silence for a long time, still cuddled together on the cliff. The breeze was warm and carried with it the scent of the sea, salty and sharp. Anne closed her eyes, revelling in the utter peace of the moment.

“What will you do now?” Aslan asked, his voice startling her from her doze.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” she said as she sat back up. “This is your kingdom. We’re just visitors.”

He shook his head earnestly. “It is also your kingdom.”

“Is it?” she said dryly. “We’ve been here for, what, two weeks? There are a thousand others who deserve the crown more than us.”

“And yet they wish to give it to you,” said Aslan. “Will you refuse them?”

She snorted. “After that encouraging little speech?”

“Will you refuse me?” he asked, giving her shoulder another friendly nuzzle. “If I ask you to take the throne, what will you say?”

Anne turned to face him directly, peering into his warm golden eyes. There was a wealth of emotion hidden in those depths, far too much to deal with right now. She could only nod, leaning forward to place a light kiss on his soft cheek.

“Yes.”

She pulled back just far enough to press their foreheads together. “Yes,” she repeated softly.

* * *

The trumpet fanfare was _loud_ when the doors opened to let Anne and her siblings into Cair Paravel’s throne room. They walked forward in pairs, with Anne bringing up the rear—something Aslan had had the forethought to discuss with her beforehand. The fussy feline had learned from the last ceremony. Anne let him enjoy his plots, her only stipulation being that he didn’t make her do anything too embarrassing.

The throne room was quite extravagant. Well, it was exactly as she expected a throne room to be. The floors, the pillars, the thrones themselves…all of it was made of white marble. The cracks in it had been sealed with what was possibly real gold—or maybe Aslan’s tears, who knew. He probably cried gold. Directly behind the thrones was an enormous stained glass window complete with a beautiful kaleidoscopic pattern, scattering the sunlight in every colour known to man, and a few more on top of that.

In an effort to possibly match the grandeur of the hall, Anne and her siblings were dressed in the finest Narnia had to offer. Colour coordinated, of course. Peter wore dark blue and gold, Susan in shimmering silver and blue, Edmund clad in dark green and silver, and Lucy outshone them all in defiant red and gold. Anne herself wore a rather plain white gown, but up close one could see the fine detailing at its edges. It almost looked like she was wearing a fine wrapping of snowflakes, which was hilariously ironic, or not depending on who you were. Again, Aslan had assured her that there was more to it than at first glance, and Anne had shrugged and rolled her eyes.

“You can’t ever do anything simply, can you?” she’d chuckled, to which Aslan had replied with what was becoming a traditional gentle bump of their foreheads.

The five of them took their places in front of their thrones, which were set in a curve. They almost looked like a pair of arms spread wide and welcoming. She smiled genuinely when she saw Mr Tumnus and the Beavers off to the side, gazes lowered respectfully. It was only right that they should be there with the five of them, having been so kind and instrumental in their journey to this day.

The horns finally quieted, and the room took a collective breath when Aslan stood and turned to address them.

“Today we witness history,” he began, voice low and strong. “Today is the day our kings and queens step forth to claim their thrones.”

Lucy, looking impossibly young and old at the same time, took a step forward. “I am Lucy the Valiant,” she declared proudly.

Mr Tumnus carefully lifted a silver crown from the pillow Mrs Beaver held in her small paws. He shuffled over, placing the crown on Lucy’s head with a tremulous smile. Then the faun bowed deeply with a fist held to his heart.

“Queen Lucy,” he murmured.

Lucy gave him a small nod, reaching out to briefly rest her hand on his before stepping back and seating herself on her throne. The younger girl cast a brief glance at Anne, who couldn’t help but wink at her sister.

Edmund was next to be crowned, squaring his shoulders to hide his nerves. He took a deep breath before speaking.

“I betrayed you all,” he announced, causing the crowd to break out into gasps and whispers. “I was not captured by the White Witch, as you all believe. I willingly joined her. I knew it was wrong, but my pride wouldn’t let me admit that, especially not to my sisters, whom I had wronged.” At that, he glanced over at Anne, Lucy, and Mr Tumnus, naked sadness in his expression.

 _Secret clause_ , Anne signed.

 _I’m still sorry_ , Edmund replied.

“For that reason, I will be King Edmund the Just,” he continued. “I swear to earn your trust and loyalty as your king, your humble servant.”

From what Anne could see, the crowd’s reaction was mixed when Edmund took his seat on the throne. Some were forgiving, some were enraged. But none openly protested, so that was a start.

Susan delicately cleared her throat, putting a stop to any leftover muttering. She stepped forward and gave an elegant curtsey, putting her at just the right height for Mr Tumnus to crown her. Hers was gold instead of Edmund and Lucy’s silver, likely to indicate her and Peter’s seniority.

“Queen Susan the Gentle,” she said. No more was needed. The steel in her tone belied the nature of her words. There was not a soul in the room that didn’t already know Susan to be capable of defending her new kingdom with deadly precision.

Peter stepped forward, and the crowd stilled in awe. Anne could understand. When she looked at her brother now, he was no longer Peter of Finchley. There was a distance to him now, as if he had risen beyond their plane. The gold in his clothing brought forth the honey shades in his hair and eyes, set aglow in the late afternoon sun. He had never looked more like their father.

“I am Peter,” he said quietly but firmly. “A king is not known for his title, but for his country and his people. I will be known as Peter the Magnificent, not in honour of me, but in honour of you, Narnia. For you have shown me strength, beauty, and resilience in measures I thought impossible. I solemnly swear to uphold our values and beliefs, and carry us into an era of integrity, prosperity, and peace.”

The thunderous roar of applause was expected, but still surprising enough that Anne jumped a bit. It was staggering, how enthusiastic they were. Every Narnian had leapt to their feet or hooves or paws, clapping and stomping and roaring their approval for Peter.

It took Aslan’s roar to settle them down again. “Patience,” he said, giving his mane a shake. “We have one more queen to crown.”

Anne walked forward to meet Aslan where he stood in the centre of the room. “How bad would it be if I just started jiving?” she muttered.

She saw Aslan stifle a laugh, holding back for sake of decorum. He sent her a stern look, which didn’t really work when she could see his whiskers twitching with amusement.

“I am Anne,” she said, injecting her voice with all the confidence she didn’t feel. “I stand here today triumphant, for the White Witch is dead!”

Cheers rose up from the gathered Narnians, raw with the memory of a hundred years of suffering. Anne flung out her arms, letting fire engulf her palms before slowly crawling up to the rest of her body.

“With my own hands I purged her stain from this land and rose from the ashes as your queen, champion, and protector,” she cried, now fully ablaze.

She dropped her arms, and the flames vanished. In their absence, her transformed dress was now on full display. The formerly white gown was now bursting with colours that shifted and flickered just like a flame, ever-changing, never stationary. Anne had no idea where Aslan had found this fabric or how it worked, but she had to admit that it looked appropriately fearsome.

If Peter’s reception had been loud, this was _deafening_. Heaven itself seemed to split as a thousand voices became a single, victorious cry. Not even Aslan’s roar could stop it. There was a feeling bubbling in her chest, too heavy to be joy yet too light to be anything but. It sat lodged between her ribs, lifting her higher until she felt like her feet would leave the ground. She could barely catch her breath as she fought a wide, manic grin.

When everyone finally quieted, Aslan stood again. This was the part Anne had not been prepped for, so she was just as anxiously clueless as anyone else to what was going to happen. What _did_ happen was rather tame in comparison to everything else.

Aslan leaned down, pressing their foreheads together in a familiar move. Anne’s hand automatically came up to cup his muzzle and stroke the soft fur on his cheek. She relaxed into his presence, only to bite back a shriek of surprise when weighted metal suddenly wrapped around her forehead. A circlet. She pulled back, blinking open her eyes to send Aslan a vicious glare for not _warning her about this_. The infuriating cat only stared back at her, golden eyes twinkling with mischief.

“Once a king or queen of Narnia, always a king or queen,” announced Aslan as she took her seat on her throne. “May their wisdom grace us until the stars rain down from the heavens."


	17. Chapter 17

“ _Long live the king! Long live the queen!_ ”

The jubilant cries echoed in her ears as Anne made her escape to the balcony. It had been quite the day. She reached up to remove her circlet. It was thin and perfectly formed to the shape of her head, complete with a delicate swirling pattern—oh, Aslan was _really_ pushing the flame motif here. At the front and centre of the piece was a teardrop gem that looked as if Aslan had plucked a star from the sky and placed it inside. Well. She shouldn’t have expected anything else, really.

“Hiding?”

Mr Tumnus chuckled when she visibly flinched at the sound of his voice.

“Don’t _do_ that,” she hissed.

“Sorry,” said the faun, not sounding very sorry at all. “So, hiding?”

Anne sighed. “You caught me.”

“There are quite a few people who want to speak with you,” said Mr Tumnus. “They’ve been searching for their Champion Queen.”

“Is that what they’re calling me?” Anne cringed slightly. “That’s rather lofty.”

“Loftier than Peter the Magnificent?”

She laughed. “Touché.”

“So, why _are_ you hiding?” he asked again.

“This is the part I’m not very good at,” she said, gesturing to her siblings mixing and mingling with their new subjects. “Talking is somehow more difficult than fighting.”

“You managed well enough earlier,” said Mr Tumnus, referring to her coronation statement.

She shook her head. “That was rehearsed.”

“It certainly didn’t sound that way,” Mr Tumnus replied. “It was rather inspiring, actually.”

“I’m glad you thought so,” she shrugged. “I’ll still leave the talking to Edmund. He far outstrips us in that regard.”

Mr Tumnus nodded. “That is a good skill for him to have. He’ll need it to win over the Narnians holding grudges.”

“Noticed that, did you?” she said. “Me too.”

“His betrayal was no small thing,” the faun warned. “In the eyes of others, he has failed Narnia.”

Anne stiffened. “He’s a _child_. He made a child’s mistake. Are they really going to judge him as an adult?”

“He’s head of state now.” Mr Tumnus placed a soothing hand on her arm. “It’s not right, I know. But I grew up on stories of the kings and queens who would come riding in to free us from the White Witch. We all did. I was fortunate enough to know you and Lucy as simply that—two children lost in the woods. Not everyone has had that privilege, so it will be very difficult for them to see you as anything but the figures of legend.”

“So much pressure,” she muttered. “We didn’t ask for this. We didn’t mean to come here.”

“Didn’t you?”

Anne shot him a dry look. “I broke a window in the professor’s home, so we ran into the wardrobe to hide. That’s how we got here. Complete accident.”

“Why did you choose the wardrobe?” said Mr Tumnus. “Why not another part of the house?”

She was silent for a moment. “I don’t know. Peter chose it.”

Mr Tumnus simply hummed instead of responding.

“I’m really glad I met you,” she said.

Mr Tumnus smiled warmly. “As am I, Anne Pevensie.”

* * *

The sun sank ever steadily below the horizon, sending reddish-golden light scattering across the surface of the water. Anne walked barefoot on the shore, letting the water play tag with her ankles. The hem of her dress was soaked within seconds, but she couldn’t care less.

Ahead of her, Aslan stood waiting, looking radiant and powerful as ever. “Anne the Triumphant,” he said. “A good name.”

She huffed a laugh. “Yeah. Could be worse. Could be a silly name like ‘Aslan’.”

Said lion shot her an offended look, smacking her side with his tail. “The young ones lack respect these days.”

“You want respect?” she challenged. “Here it is.”

She flicked her hand and sent a tall wave crashing down on top of Aslan, soaking him to the bone. He stood stock still before turning and sending her a truly impressive attempt at a glare. The effect was much more drowned kitten than fearsome lion.

“You did not,” he began dangerously, “just do that.”

“Oh, but I did,” she replied, relishing in his misery. “What are you going to do about i—shit!”

Aslan pounced, sending her toppling over into the water with a loud splash. Anne sat up laughing and attempting to spit out water at the same time, which went as well as she thought it would. She ended up sending herself into a coughing fit, activating his Ultimate Mother Hen mode.

“I’m fine!” she exclaimed, staggering out of the water and away from his fussing. He looked like he was one second away from starting to groom her. “I’m not even cold. Look.”

She burst into cheerful yellow flame, water hissing and steaming as it evaporated from her hair and skin. She was careful not to dry herself fully, happy to let the last of it air dry lest she accidentally dehydrate herself.

“Bet you can’t do that, can you?” she teased. “I’d offer my services, but cats aren’t fireproof.”

Aslan shook his mane gently, sending water droplets flying in graceful arcs. He was left looking damp, but not drowned. “How does it feel to be queen?” he asked, starting to walk along the beach.

Anne followed, keeping pace with his steady padding. “It’s strange,” she said. “Everything keeps contradicting itself. I feel like I could fly and I feel like there’s an elephant standing on my shoulders. I’m not ready for this.”

“You will learn,” he assured her. “The throne will suit you well.”

“How can you just trust us with something so huge?” she wondered. “You’ve barely known usfor a month.”

Aslan gave a small shrug. “The same reason you chose to trust me.”

“Because you had no choice?” she replied doubtfully.

“No, little spark,” he chuckled. “Because you have proven yourselves.”

Anne quirked a brow but otherwise didn’t comment on the new name. “Vague as ever, you are,” she said, rubbing a hand over her face wearily. “How do we even _begin_ to start ruling? How does one even rule? Are we getting lessons from you or something?”

He shook his head regretfully. “Unfortunately, it is time for me to go. Look to your people for guidance. There are many here who would call you friend.”

Anger flared up in her chest, hot and tight. She just barely restrained the urge to punch him square in the face.

“You’re joking,” she laughed harshly. “You’re dropping your country off with the world’s least qualified nannies, and you’re fine with that? You’re just going to leave?”

“I will return,” Aslan promised, wincing slightly. “The timing of this is not ideal, I know. I would not go if I had another choice.”

Okay. That was slightly comforting to know. “Where are you going?” she asked. “What do you have to do?”

“I cannot say,” he replied. “Know, little spark, that even if I am not here I will never truly be gone. If you need me, I will come.”

“Does it ever get tiring, being so cryptic?” Anne heaved a sigh. “Fuck, I can’t even stay angry at you anymore.”

“Language.”

“Piss off,” she retorted. “I’ll curse if I want to.”

“I will miss you,” Aslan confessed softly. “I will miss our talks.”

“You mean the times when you say random mysterious things and I roll my eyes, then you make vague allusions to other random mysterious things and I roll my eyes harder?”

He laughed loudly, tail tip twitching in his mirth. Anne merely grinned, stepping forward to give him one last hug.

“Go on,” she said when she pulled away. “Get out of here. I suddenly can’t stand the sight of your face.”

“Farewell, Anne Pevensie,” said Aslan, golden eyes warm and fond. “Until we meet again.”

She closed her eyes, knowing he would be gone when she opened them again. “Be safe,” she whispered.

* * *

Anne wasn’t surprised when Aslan turned out to be a dirty little liar. He did _not_ return, and she stopped waiting after two years. She and her siblings were grown now, and honestly, they were having the time of their lives. Oh, there were highs and lows, but her family was the one thing Anne knew she could rely on.

Narnia flourished under their rule. They reopened markets and trade routes, pulling their citizens out of years of rationing one day at a time. It took a while, but the Narnians were eventually able to enjoy the luxuries they remembered from a hundred years ago. Hot baths. Freshly baked goods and prime cuts of meat. Jewellery, fine clothing, homes without escape tunnels. Cair Paravel went from a skeleton staff of fifteen to a bustling employ of seventy-five. The halls were never silent, never lonely.

They reclaimed territories that had belonged to Narnia pre-hundred year winter, like the Lone Islands. They defeated the giants in the North, aided by allies Anne had secured in Archenland. She had led every single diplomatic mission since her coronation, whether alone or accompanied by a sibling or two. It suited her perfectly, fulfilling both her desire to travel and learn and her need to avoid anywhere that reminded her of Aslan. She ended up staying abroad more often than she stayed at the castle, which was just fine.

At home, Peter, Susan, Edmund, and Lucy slowly settled into roles that would become the stuff of stories. Peter sat at the head of every table as High King; he had the last word on every decision, every strike of the army’s sword. Early on, he’d appointed a council of advisors to aid them in their adjustment period. Those members had stayed relatively constant as they learned and grew more confident in ruling.

Susan, after earning the title of Master Archer, threw herself headlong into construction. There were new roads to be built, new houses, new bridges, so many new things. She had once confessed to Anne that the ebb and flow of numbers and charts and blueprints calmed her, distracting her from the fact that they had essentially abandoned their home in England to stay here.

Despite anticipating the backlash against him, Edmund positively shone in his new role as king. He was Peter’s right hand in all matters of the state, a position earned by years of invaluable council and sound judgement. They balanced each other well. Where Peter was all passion and fire, Edmund was icy logic and quiet determination. He and Anne shared the title of First General, the highest army rank, and his swordsmanship was unparalleled. Not even Peter could best him in a match.

Anne and Edmund remained a tightly knit pair, their talents blending and complementing each other perfectly. Edmund took care of the in-house military while Anne oversaw their embassy stations and foreign guard. Edmund focused on domestic politics and Anne made her mark in foreign diplomacy. He accompanied her on her voyage to the Lone Islands, helping her reintegrate and stabilise Narnian rule where it was needed. There were a few islands she left alone, having found a thriving population already established there. In those cases, Anne simply greeted them as she would a foreign ruler and indicated that Narnia was open to new trade if they were.

Lucy, predictably, blossomed into the very best of them all. When she took up painting, Anne was ready for it to last a month at most before Lucy moved on. To their surprise, Lucy kept it up for years and years, producing the most magnificent watercolours Anne had ever seen. She found herself ferrying more than a few across the sea to their allies as wedding gifts, anniversary gifts, birthday gifts, everything. They really were the best paintings in the world. When Lucy wasn’t busy creating masterpieces, she was spearheading the arts initiative. Her largest ongoing project was the royal library. Lucy would occasionally accompany Anne on a trip to seek out a rare tome or a set of ancient scrolls she just _had_ to add to the collection. Her efforts paid off, though, for Narnia’s royal library boasted the most comprehensive collection of all subjects imaginable, from music to maps.

Unfortunately, not everything was trade and treaties. There was immense pressure on all of them, Peter and Susan especially, to establish a line of succession. No one wanted another hundred years of uncertainty. The problem was that they’d all ascended the throne as children. Lucy was twelve, for Christ’s sake; it would be at least another ten years before she’d even consider having children. No one was ready to settle down, but the country demanded it. So, when Peter was eighteen and Susan was seventeen, it was with great reluctance that they opened Cair Paravel to its first suitors’ ball. They invited guests from Archenland, Calormen, and the Lone Islands, anyone of marriageable age.

It was a hateful affair. Anne remembered her first one with bitter clarity. She had been spared most of the nonsense, being sixteen and all, but she wasn’t blind to what was happening around her. She’d confiscated, at the very least, three of Peter and Susan’s drinks because someone had slipped something in them. An aphrodisiac, most likely. Anne and Edmund had remained by their elder siblings’ sides the whole night, guarding their food and wine from desperate suitors. Her only consolation was that Lucy was safe in her quarters, sleeping soundly away from all of it.

She wouldn’t be for long, though. The next year, after some unsuccessful negotiations for Peter and Susan, Edmund and Anne were thrust into the running, which meant Lucy could be forced to court as early as the year after that. Anne hadn’t been so angry since the day she’d killed the Witch. She vowed to make things as difficult as possible for any prospective suitors. And she did. Those that were not set on fire simply fled upon seeing those that were on fire. Though, to Anne’s credit, she managed not to kill anyone.

Eventually, things calmed a bit when Peter was twenty-six and he met and began to court a lovely young woman named Celeste. Anne quite liked her, and Peter was completely smitten. Celeste was intelligent, witty, and could hold her own in a match of chess against Edmund. She was from the Lone Islands, and her people were fierce and protective of their own, something Anne had admired when she was there. 

Now, Peter was happily engaged, and the country was mostly off their backs about succession, mollified by the announcement of Celeste and Peter’s wedding this autumn. It was a distracting enough event that Susan’s rather tumultuous and public breakup flew mostly under the radar. And Edmund…oh _Edmund_. Anne remembered the day she’d found out why he was particularly against the idea of marrying, even more so than Anne herself.

_“Get out of my sight,” said Anne, smiling pleasantly at her latest would-be suitor. She flicked a finger threateningly, enjoying the speed with which the man’s face drained of colour._

_Now free of the simpering fop, she glanced to the side to share her triumph with Edmund, who was—where was he? He had been there a second ago._ _She let out a frustrated huff; how dare he abandon her in her time of need? A quick survey of the room told her the ball was in full swing, which meant it was the perfect time to make her escape. And if Edmund had left before her, Peter and Susan couldn’t complain when she followed suit._

_She was rounding the corner to her rooms when she saw them. Edmund’s back was pressed to the door of his chambers, head thrown back and eyes shut. A hand, one that belonged to a tall, unfamiliar man, came up to press against Edmund’s throat. Anne lunged forward, instinct screaming at her to defend her brother. It wasn’t the first time Edmund had been accosted by an angry citizen or a Witch sympathiser._

_Edmund moaned, loud and breathy and desperate, and Anne froze. She watched in stunned silence as the stranger leaned down and sealed his mouth over Edmund’s, swallowing the noise with a low growl. Edmund’s hand came up to eagerly fist the man’s hair, and oh it was so obvious that this man was not a stranger at all, not to him._

_Anne laughed. Then she clapped her hand over her mouth in horror as the two men whipped their heads around to stare at her. Edmund’s eyes were bright with terror even as he shifted his body to stand in front of the other man, shielding him from her view. It didn’t do much good, seeing as her brother was at least four inches shorter than his partner. Anne couldn’t help it. Shecackled, clutching the wall nearest to her for support. Black spots danced across her vision as she gasped for air, finding more laughter instead._

_“Anne,” she heard Edmund say harshly. “Shut up before you have everyone in the castle running over here.”_

_A cold hand closed around her wrist, yanking her into Edmund’s rooms. The door slammed shut, and Anne finally stopped laughing._

_“I’m sorry,” she said quickly, looking up at her twin. “That was probably not a great reaction.”_

_“Hysterical laughter generally isn’t,” Edmund replied, expression locked tightly under control._

_Anne smiled gently at him. “Hey. It’s okay.”_

_“Is it?” he said, a small crack appearing in his inscrutable facade. Hope and fright warred in that tiny opening, softening Anne further._

_“Are you happy, Eddie?” she asked instead answering._

_He shared a glance with his paramour, something incredibly tender flashing across his face. Edmund turned back to her, squaring his shoulders defiantly. “I’ve never been happier in my life.”_

_“Yeah,” said Anne, opening her arms to him. “You’re okay.”_

_Edmund’s expression crumpled with relief as he surged forward into her embrace, burying his face in her hair. He pressed closer still, as if he was trying to crawl into her skin for protection._

_“I almost told you so many times,” he muttered. “Was scared.”_

_“But never ashamed,” a new voice spoke up. It was the other man, Edmund’s partner, having come up to place his hand on Edmund’s shoulder._

_Anne met the man’s slate grey eyes, immediately seeing what had made her twin fall so hard. This man was warm, infinitely warm, and yet his spine was made of steel. He carried himself with the confidence of someone who knew exactly who he was. She knew Edmund was still plagued with doubts from time to time—whether or not he deserved the throne, if the people were convinced he’d truly changed, how to step out from Peter’s shadow—so it was easy to understand the attraction._

_She pulled back from Edmund and extended a hand to the man. “Hi, I’m Edmund’s twin sister,” she said, grinning widely. “It’s nice to meet you.”_

_“William,” said the man, taking her hand and bowing to press his lips to it. “A pleasure, Your Majesty.”_

_Anne screwed her face up in disgust at that. “Oh no. Call me Anne. Please.”_

_“Anne,” William acquiesced._

_“So,” she said. “How did you two meet?”_

“He was amazing,” Anne murmured, squeezing Edmund’s hand tightly. They stared down at William’s gravestone, vision blurred with tears.

“Yeah,” he sighed, breath trembling slightly. “What was it Lu said? Stupidly perfect.”

“A steadfast friend.”

“Excellent kisser.”

“A trusted confidant.”

“Top marks in bed.”

Anne laughed at that, unable to hold it back. Edmund’s smile wobbled, but it was a smile nonetheless. It was a rare sight since William’s death. They’d lost him to a battle in the North. William had jumped in front of a sword meant for his commander; Edmund had been on the other side of the battlefield, he hadn’t seen it happen. Anne was glad, but it had torn her twin apart to miss the chance to say goodbye.

“The first man I loved,” Edmund whispered. “I thought he’d be the only one.”

“I’m sorry, Ed,” she said softly, rising up on tiptoe to press a kiss to his temple. He was much taller than her now. “And I’m sorry about what Peter and Susan said.”

“You mean when they told me that I should be over the death of my ‘friend’?” he said. “Because it had been three years and they’d lost fellow soldiers too?”

“They didn’t know what William meant to you,” said Anne. “And they’re shitheads sometimes.” She gave his hand one last squeeze. “I’ll give you some time alone. Find me later for the hunt?”

Edmund nodded, gratitude softening his dark eyes. “Later.”

* * *

And so, Anne found herself on the back of her horse, following her siblings as they chased after the White Stag. She grumbled to herself unhappily, wondering why she agreed to this. She hated hunts.

Her horse suddenly skidded to a halt, nearly throwing her from the saddle. “Whoa!” she cried, seizing the reins tightly. “Everything all right?”

“I’m sorry, Your Majesty,” her horse panted. “King Edmund has stopped.”

She patted the mare’s neck comfortingly. “No apology needed. Good eye.” She dismounted, making her way over to Edmund and his mount. “Philip, what happened? Are you well?”

Edmund’s horse shook his mane dismissively. “Just needed a moment, Your Majesty. I’m not as young as I once was.”

“Take all the time you need,” said Edmund, rubbing Philip’s neck soothingly. “The others can handle the hunt without us.”

“Should we head back?” Anne asked. “I’ll take any excuse to get out of this.”

But Edmund shook his head. “It’s a beautiful day. Why waste it inside? Let’s take a walk. I haven’t been to this part of the woods in ages.”

“Fine,” she sighed, turning back to where her horse was waiting by Philip. “Sylvia, feel free to do your own exploring. We’ll shout if we need you or Philip.”

“Yes, Your Majesties,” the mare replied, dipping her head.

Anne and Edmund turned and headed deeper into the woods, dappled sunlight warm on their backs. They walked with no destination, letting their feet take them where they may. Eventually, they reached a parting in the trees. Edmund led them forward into the clearing, stopping in front of a tall lamppost. The metal was looking rather weathered, but the flame burned bright even in the sun.

“What…” Anne circled the post, frowning deeply. “Has this always been here?”

“I’m not sure,” said Edmund. “I don’t think Susan ever mentioned construction of a lamppost. Odd place for one, isn’t it?”

“I—”

“Anne! Edmund!” Lucy burst into the clearing with Peter and Susan right behind her. “We got worried when we found Philip and Sylvia by themselves.”

“Sorry,” Edmund shrugged. “Philip needed a break, and we weren’t feeling the hunt all that much either.”

Lucy sniffed. “Well, you could have sent some sort of signal.”

“And have you blame me for ruining your hunt?” said Anne. “Not likely.”

“You know, this seems familiar,” Peter cut in, staring hard at the lamppost.

“That’s what I said!” Anne exclaimed. “Susan, did you order this construction?”

Her sister shook her head. “No. I know nothing of this.” She looked up at the post in contemplation. “It feels like I’ve seen it in a dream.”

“Or a dream of a dream,” said Lucy. Her eyes widened. “Spare Oom.”

Anne gave her a blank look. “What.”

Lucy rolled her eyes and tore out of the clearing like the Witch herself was on her heels.

“Not again,” Peter groaned as they scrambled to follow her.

Lucy’s voice floated back to them, sounding very far away. “Come on!”

“Lucy, come back,” Anne shouted.

“Oi, not so loud. I’m right here.”

Lucy’s face popped out from behind the thick branch of an evergreen, nearly startling them into shrieking.

“Come on,” she urged, disappearing once again. They had no choice but to follow.

As they pushed forward, the trees closed in, suffocating their path.

“These aren’t branches,” Peter suddenly said.

“They’re coats,” said Susan.

The space grew ever more cramped and Anne gave a sharp cry when her poor feet were stepped on more than once.

“Ouch! Watch it!”

The door to the wardrobe burst open, and the five siblings tumbled out into a bare room. Anne rolled over and sat up, ready to start in on Lucy for getting them into this mess. Then she got a good look at her younger sister’s face.

“Fuck.”

Lucy was a child again. Twelve, to be exact. Peter was sixteen. Susan was fifteen. Which meant she and Edmund must be fourteen again. Memories rushed in, flooding her mind with images of Finchley, home, and _Mum_.

“ _Fuck._ ”

“How did we forget?” asked Susan, tears choking her voice.

Lucy’s face was pale with shock. “We forgot _Mum_.”

“And Dad,” said Edmund. His voice was high with youth again, but his dark eyes were aged with experience.

They remembered every second of their rule. They remembered growing up, growing into their lives as kings and queens. It was as fresh as the memory of kissing their mother goodbye at the train station a week ago. A week.

Footsteps sounded in the hall.

“Oh,” said Anne. “Oops.”

Peter poked her in the side. “What?”

“The window,” she giggled with an edge of madness. “Remember why we came here in the first place?”

The door opened.

Professor Kirke stepped in, pinning them all with a knowing stare. “What were you all doing in the wardrobe?”

No one said a thing.


End file.
